


Adventures, and How to Pen Them

by evilNira



Series: Adventures are not Just in Your Books [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Durincest, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Industrial Era (nonspecific), M/M, Mentions of Company, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 166,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilNira/pseuds/evilNira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/   Bilbo Baggins is a wealthy writer who's only adventures have been the books he's penned. Perturbed his friend only writes tales of adventure, Gandalf decides a little meddling is in order. Thorin Oakenshield is brought into the picture, a renowned traveler and photographer, has lived the adventures Bilbo could only imagine and wants nothing more that one of his own to be written. Now the only thing stopping a good Adventure is the small part about travelling the world for it, and Bilbo absolutely refuses the preposterous idea... well, if he did, there wouldn't be a story, would there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pen to Paper

**Author's Note:**

> Helllloooooo. So, I write a lot, first thing I've really posted, because I usually write WITH people, instead of story-format. I plan to make this a bi-weekly posting of chapters, not sure how long it will be. Totally a slow-burn. Luuuurve it. I like critique, but let's have it be HELPFUL critique, no rudeness please :D  
> Setting: Definitely not Middle-Earth, but definitely not "present" day. A mixture between the two, I should imagine, and no, this does not follow the Book/Movie, save for certain elements. As the story progresses I'll note which chapters have any "dangerous" material, i.e. the smutz, the violence(probably none of that) for now it's safe :D
> 
> I love comments, I want to hear what you all have to say, like it, you don't, blah blah blah...

**Chapter 1: Pen to Paper**

            A writer. That’s what he wanted to be. A traveler, an adventurer. He could be all these things sitting from his red arm chair before the fire. He was the only son of a well-off and well-to-do family stacked upon rolling hills. Close enough to the larger and busier city for their business, but there was peace here. Quiet too. Eventually his home became bustling with townsfolk and their little city became quite a big one.

            His father was a vineyard grower, harvester of the fine delectable wines of the “Baggins’ Home Brew” he had named it. It had not meant to be so thriving, but soon, it boomed into a respectable and pleasant business. He could provide for his wife and then eventually, his young boy, William “Bilbo” Robert Baggins. And Bilbo would eventually take over the family business, for Bilbo had no intentions of seriously travelling, though his heart yearned to see rolling mountaintops, darkened and green forests of old.

            His heart was set into writing. His father supported his idea, so long as he took over the business, and by the time Bilbo was being courted in such respects, the business was so far out of the way, Bilbo only dealt with the paperwork side of things, and perhaps the hirelings of landowners and sharers. That was the year his father passed. A cold gone sour, took him in the night with weeping wife and mourning son.

            Bilbo tried to raise his mothers spirits; in her youth she had traveled, perhaps that was where his own desires stemmed. She was courageous and she fought with bravery, standing up in her beliefs. She was kind though, Bilbo always remembered, soft and sweet. When her husband past, it was like a part of her went with him, and needless to say, Bilbo did not expect her to remain long.

            She died a few years later of a heart attack. Something had struck her, sent her into a panic, the doctors said. Bilbo would twist that she died of a broken heart and that her heart gave out. She had remedied the will, that their ancestral home for quite a few generations would remain within Bilbo’s care- as if he could find it in his soul to leave. His heart yearned for more, but now, now was not the time for foolish desires and petty wants.

            He was a businessman, a respectable citizen that visited his farmers often, cheered when they spent their Sunday mornings in the market, selling and trading. Always on time, he liked to boast and others did too. He was not without his worries or stresses, but life had been… pleasant and he was content to live in such a world.

            He had never thought highly of his books, the town grew to love the ‘writer on the hill’ as much as meeting him in person. His popularity only soared when now, with both of his parents gone, he wrote plenty, some said too much.

 Bilbo was not a shy fellow, mind you, he was a well-mannered individual that enjoyed his peace and quiet. Alone. His books eventually caught the eye of an editor named Gary Rondolf, or as Bilbo eventually came to know him as “Gandalf Gray Publishing”. Quite surprised at the editor at the door, he invited him in, said he was indeed looking for another publishing company with a bigger stretch. Gandalf was more than happy to help. He loved the stories woven by the young writer, just now striding into his 30’s too. Quite young.

            A lot of spirit. He insisted he do a bit of travelling to the larger cities for shows, signings, that would gain him the audience he was seeking, and a bit reluctantly… Bilbo found himself drawing out of his home to other towns- nothing ever too far, as he insisted he could not leave his ‘business’ behind. Perhaps he was scared himself of leaving too long. Perhaps…

            This was what he feared the most; traveling.

            Now Gandalf was a meddling sort of man. Not content with where his own life went, he sought to help others and try his best to act as a guide through trials and trivialities of day-to-day life. He had an extensive set of friends, all eclectic from one another. An old friend of his sought to start up a company, a well-to do business of his own. Gandalf was there to help to in all the ways he could. Brought into the family, Gandalf remained a close family friend of Durin. Eventually the company grew, an enterprise that sold finery, jewels, cloths, the finest in all the lands they had said.

Now Gandalf did a thing most sly. He slowly fed their wealth and beauty to others, even the Baggins’ had heard of their business. The Durin Family brought in other families interested in funding the business, in being a partner. Eventually, they founded Erebor Trading and Company, showing unified business partners all helping to build a better and more prosperous life. But business was a game two could play at. A rival company saw Erebor Trading as a worthy competitor, and soon after setting their sights upon the extensive materials Erebor Trading had began to take them over. It was slow, at first, the takeover of Erebor Trading, starting with buying off smaller merchants and craftsmen, to weeding out loyalists.

Once the larger business had finally gotten a strong foothold in Erebor Trading, the Durin family had little strength. All that was left for the Durin family to do was stand by and watch their business rivals buy them out.

Many were affected by the change in leadership. The rival conglomerate took over much of Erebor Trading’s mines, and leather shops. They took the mills and farms, they took all they could and the Durin family was left with just their wealth, but no one to aide their reclamation. Gandalf had gone to the family, but the head of the family would not see him, his son could barely _stand_ to aide Gandalf, but the elderly publisher found a common goal in the youngest generation of Durin’s; Thomas “Thorin” Durin. He was the shield and provider for many of the merchants and small businesses that had fallen upon hard times after the takeover. He promised them he would do all he could, and they swore they would one day follow Thorin, should he choose to rebuild.

However, Thorin was not given the chance. No, he was told he could retake the name or title of their business until it was signed over. Gandalf saw that Thorin was a patient man, if easily ill-tempered. Instead, Gandalf did not offer help, but offered it to Thorin, who refused. He would find his _own_ way around.

            Thorin was not interested in claiming leadership over a company that was hoarding itself away until the ends of days. He wanted something brighter for his family, for those who had invested their people and time into Erebor Trading. The young heir insisted that his family go to the banks, go to friends, go to their trading partners, after Gandalf had offered his help, for assistance in the effort to rebuild their failed company, but they were none too happy with such an idea, turned Thorin away. His own family had turned him away once more with the threat he would _never_ see the rights to the company. So the young heir decided it was time to find _another_ path.

            And thus, he found a solace in travelling alone. It was not a job, it was a calling, he would later admit, but was unsure _when_ he would admit. If his family would not help rebuild Erebor Trading and Company, then he would do it himself. It should be something that benefited more than just the rich, as it had in later years, attracting the large conglomerate that overtook their company.

He was young, when the merge had been done, young when he was told that their business was diminished, and nothing but past riches and glories were stories. He had gone, many times, to the countries their company once held business, but they were slowly sucked away from big-business. Thorin found himself travelling, to make relations as his _own_ business man. His sister was a good financier he realized, she had married wealthy too. Her husband more than happy to start their own business- it was a travelling magazine, something small, and eventually was adopted into a larger magazine publishing company.

            Thorin became their star photographer; one of their lead idea-men. One day, he told himself, he would take back his families trading company, one day _he_ would be running that show. For that moment, however, Thorin was young, and he was living a little dream. A dream that told him, writing for a magazine could not _begin_ cover the world he was gazing out upon.

            Now… a _book_ could do what he wished.

            A fantasy. He could twist this land into a fantasy, into a realm of dragons and knights, to magic and comfort. Having made the decision, he eventually reached out to Gandalf, who had been his strongest supporter, a publisher it seemed who had the reach of a wizard! He discussed wanting to write a book, but be on scene for many of the stories plot points. He asked if that could even be done. The old publisher laughed, and said that perhaps if they made it into a small clipping in a local magazine, like a comic or short story. After a certain period of time, they would release another chapter. Thorin questioned if that was even possible? Could it be done? One day, he would have to return to his company and build it back up, but Gandalf seemed convinced that the book could help. They could be a supplier, his company, reclaim places of business the larger market had taken over.

            So Thorin listened about a queer little writer Gandalf had helped make big. Suggested they meet. Thorin needed a writer of exceptional skill, to weave a story of grandeur and fantasy, as well as meet deadlines and have a fan-base that would scream for something new to devour.

            For that, Thorin needed _an expert._

 

            It was Gandalf who came to his door, Bilbo inviting him after a few moments of deliberation- he was within a book, writing one, at a crucial part, but Gandalf said it was urgent, or at least seemed so. Bilbo let the older man within, showed him to his study and sat him down. “Now, what is it that you needed of me, Gandalf?” Bilbo smiled lowering his reading glasses in his hands.

            “I was hoping you would be amiable to meet a friend of mine,” odd thing to ask, a friend? Now? “He came to me with questions on how to write a book, an adventure novel, right up your alley I said. I suggested we speak together, in order to smooth over a transition.”

            “You found me someone who has a new story?” Bilbo had been the one to dream up these adventures, but he had hoped he would get someone brave enough to suggest a story to _him._ He’d actually signed up with Gandalf hoping that the publishing company would _eventually_ suggest a story. It was not that he was running out, mind you, he still had grand tales, but he yearned for something greater, something that could only come from someone else. Ideas were meant to be shared. “Well, I suppose if you think I would be suited.”

            “I think you are more than suited, however, I came instead because our interested party is not quite what you would expect,” Gandalf smiled softly and Bilbo tilted his head.

            “What do you mean?”

            “He is used to being alone, a small-time writer himself, he does have personal dilemmas to deal with, but was assured they would not cross with the writing,” he cleared his throat. “He can be a little curt. And overbearing. In fact, you two may not get on at all.” Gandalf had a way of twisting discomfort and ill-advice to be mockery or joking.

            “Uh huh, I see, well, the very least respect I can offer, is that I will listen, and I will meet him,” he smiled then. “Besides, we all might be a little misguided in the world, I know I could do well to look through another’s point of view.” _And that is precisely what I mean to do, my sad little friend;_ for it was no mistaking the grievances and sorrow that filled bright hazel eyes within Bilbo. He was always a bit tucked away, sheltered even, but a strike of depression and norm had settled inside, and Gandalf did not like to see his friends tormented over the daily happenings if they are not treasured. He believed that Bilbo needed a bit of excitement, and he knew it could be great for the both of them; not just to bring back the old interests in Thorin’s family and company, but also quite personally for both Bilbo and Thorin.

            He had hoped that in all his long years of meddling, that it was _right_ to bring them together.

 

            Gandalf decided that they should meet at Bilbo’s place, though Bilbo was quite reluctant to let a mostly stranger waltz into his house. Not that he had any real reason to be fretful, no he was just antsy, perhaps, for the visitor. Gandalf had made insinuations that he was uncouth and unfriendly, quite frankly, as a new young writer many would look down their noses at such a person. It was nerves, truly. Gandalf arrived first and Bilbo seated him, he had a dinner planned, to smooth over the process of introductions. Good food always settled family disputes, why not fresh introductions?

            The loud ‘thunk’ upon his door had him jumping and off he trotted to his green door, slowly opening it as Gandalf came alongside Bilbo to greet the adventurer. He was draped in a large coat and scarf from the obvious chill of winter outside, snow not quite an issue yet. Bilbo felt his throat tighten- the man was intimidating, if nothing else than _twice_ his size. Maybe that was an exaggeration the writer would later amend, but that made him no less _larger_ than himself. He had dark wavy hair, tied back into a bun-like ponytail, his eyes though made Bilbo outright look _away._ “I may take your coat?” it was meek and the adventurer gave him a glance and handed off his things, with as much as a smile as he could manage. Gandalf could have _sworn_ he heard the cracking of that smile from ill-use, but said nothing. Bilbo took the warm coat, the warm scarf and tucked them down the hall at his rack and turned.

            “Might I introduce the two of you?” Gandalf said as a pleasantry, and Thorin nodded. “This is Thorin, or as his birth name goes Thomas Durin. This, is my good friend and writer, William Robert Baggins, Bilbo.” Their hands extended, Bilbo’s first and Thorin’s a bit hesitant to make contact.

            “You are sure then?” Thorin glanced to Gandalf, then back to Bilbo. “I will trust your judgment.” He eyed Bilbo and the little writer was frowning a bit, at being _over-talked,_ but far too polite to make it known. “You may call me Thorin, or Thomas, whatever is your desire, Master Baggins.” Thorin bowed the slightest, some stray strands of hair falling down his face. Bilbo nodded and wondered if all mountain-men adventurers were bearded as tales of dwarves and gnomes were. “My gratitude for inviting us to your abode—“

            “Oh!” Bilbo felt his cheeks light- “Yes well, you’re welcome. It was mostly by Gandalf’s insistence.” He added with a flutter in his gut. “You can call me Bill, or Robert, or Bilbo. Gandalf doesn’t take to using people’s real names, so I’ve grown accustomed to people referring to me as Bilbo.” He smiled then- Thorin didn’t seem _quite_ like the jerk that Gandalf made him seem to be. “Dinner, right, come along.” He waved for his guests to follow him into the main dining hall and instantly the air around Thorin changed. Bilbo felt a pointed stare as he brought over drinks for them- “Is there an issue?”

            “Have you ever traveled before, Master Baggins?” Ah, so he was going to be this formal _all_ the time, well no harm there.

            “N… not particularly far, no,” he stated. “Should I have had that under my belt of expertise?”

            “I suppose not,” Thorin sighed and took a seat at the table, eyeing it with disdain. Clearly the blonde had no such ideas or concepts of what camping in the wilderness would be like. No warm hearth, no fresh tea in the morn’ right after eggs and biscuits. He wasn’t quite convinced that this writer was the one Gandalf had insisted upon. “You told me he was right for this.” He hissed when Bilbo had turned to fetch some tea as well.

            “And you must trust me that I am right,” Gandalf argued, but this caught Bilbo’s attention when he returned.

            “Something I might know?” He asked.

            “We were discussing whether you were right for the job,” Thorin folded his arms seriously. “I doubt you have the faintest idea of the environments we will be traversing, let alone the details of foot-hiking.” Bilbo stammered.

            “That does not make me a bad idea,” He argued. “That makes me ill-equipped. I had not known I was going on a trip with someone who would refuse to aid the one he’s _paying.”_ Bilbo tutted then, seating himself quite _prominently_ , straight, poised, ready to strike. “It’s rude to insult people within their own home.”

            “It is more rude to promise something and not deliver,” this Thorin said to Gandalf who gave him a glare.

            “If I believe that Bilbo Baggins is the right writer for you, then he is indeed,” Bilbo jumped a bit at such a clear and confident statement as that from Gandalf. They had been friends since Gandalf had brought him into the publishing company, but he had not expected that loyalty. “If you wish to find another better and more eager writer, then do so on your own terms, you will receive no help from me.”

            Thorin deflated at this, rolling his eyes but agreeing none the less. He glanced over the writer and took a breath. “Gandalf and I have already brought up the plans for a contract. You may have a few days to overlook it, if you wish.” Bilbo said he’d _like_ those terms before he agrees. Thorin handed it off as they ate.

            Bilbo understood _very_ clearly that dinner did _not_ help smooth the process. Gandalf took it upon himself to corner them separately _._ First to Thorin, he chastised his rudeness and the level of scrutiny he had pressed upon Bilbo without first getting to know the writer. “I do not need to get know someone if I can take a look at the place they live in, Gandalf.” Thorin growled lowly, partially so that the writer would not think badly nor hear this conversation. “He has been prim and proper all his life, he does not know the wilds, and you want me to risk that fragility? We are not exactly going on a vacation where there those to assist.”

            “You must give him a chance,” Thorin paced away to the fire and remained. “There is more than meets the eye to our young writer, and I think he might impress you with what he does know.”

            “Fine cooking and a warm feather pillow are not important,” Thorin said but, Gandalf had a point. Other writers and companies he had asked simply turned him away, regardless of the pay he offered or that the writer would only need to visit such sights. They all declined. He was not entirely sure why. More likely, it was due to the hazards and the chances of the book _failing_ markets and not meeting the selling quota. Gandalf said he knew a writer who could risk that, who would, because profit was not his interest, he had enough, but simply for the adrenaline, the sights.

            Thorin glanced his way to the kitchen and let out a sigh. “As always you have me cornered Gandalf.” He relented. “I will see to it I take his care into consideration, but I cannot be there to hold his hand.” Thorin murmured and Gandalf agreed. To this, he left Thorin by the fire and returned to Bilbo who was spending far too much time, cleaning a pot.

            “Dear Bilbo, I believe your reflection is clear enough in that pot,” Bilbo offhandedly agreed and set it aside. Thorin asked what his issue was.

            “You picked me? Why me?” He asked. “There must be a ton of writers that would desire his money, that, that would deem a little travelling well worth coin he’s providing. I doubt Thorin is sitting here offering it as a pro bono with the assumption the book will cover the fees.” He stared out the kitchen window. “I am not the writer you’re looking for. I’ve never left the _country_ let alone seen _half_ of it!” He heaved and slumped there against the counter.

            “You always dreamed of these moments, the precipice of adventure, are not all of your stories dreams you had yourself? Can you not see yourself standing at the edge of these mountains?” Bilbo looked to Gandalf.

            “I am not that boy anymore,” those bushy gray brows came together. “I might have been when I could be carefree with mother and…” he let his voice peter off into silence. “I cannot accept such a drastic leap for a book. No matter it’s truer purposes. I do not understand why this book needs to be written in the ice cold wind, or in the tropical heat of a rainforest. No, Gandalf, I think Mister Durin was right when he said I wasn’t the writer for him.” He turned then, only partially feeling any truth to those words. “You two may stay the night, if you choose. The guest beds are already set up to accommodate, should you need them.” With that, he finished his dishes and retired to his room, but not before coming to the adventurer. “I am sorry you travelled so far to be met with disappointment. I can’t imagine that there are not… better people suited to traversing the wilds, as you say.” Those thick black brows came together, but just slightly, there was no drastic release of anger or frustration. “You are welcomed to stay for the night, I am sure you were meant to, with the way Gandalf speaks his riddles around people.”

            “I…” he felt his throat catch. “I was promised a warm bed for the night.” He had to admit, at least they _both_ shared their _annoyance_ with Gandalf.

            “T-Then, then you have it,” he stuttered out. Bilbo was unsure why his cheeks flushed, nor why he stuttered over that calm demeanor and the way he just so _arrogantly…_ he took a breath. “L-Let me show you to it then.” He stepped to the door and opened the room, turning flick on the lights. “I do apologize for furthering your delays.” He bowed and was just prepared to turn when the adventurer cleared his throat, making Bilbo pause.

            “It’s not an adventure, I’m asking you on,” Thorin said, arms folded as he looked over the room, then eventually, turned to face the writer. “I’m asking you to step into one of your books, for a moment.” He eyed the room. “You have maps of the places I’ve been.” Bilbo’s eyes opened up a bit more, eyeing one of the maps he had in the guest room. “You have flowers in your garden from the rainforest, and vegetables from the northern lands.” Blue eyes met those shining hazel ones. “Do your stories hold no place in your heart?” This made those eyes become red, made cheeks darken and brows furrow.

            “I enjoy the world for what it has to offer,” He huffed, straightening his vest. “That does not mean I must appreciate it from its source, Mister Durin. Please. I will have breakfast ready before you take your leave.”

            The writer was in his room, standing at the window that overlooked a most gorgeous view of the hillside and just… _nature._ His eyes took in every detail a thousand times already, nature had left this place relatively untouched, what would change in a hundred years? He turned away, it was a mad thought to just rush out of his home to just _sight-see._ His eyes flickered to his fireplace, a warm hearth that had been cold for so long because of a hole that had not been filled.

            That morning when he woke, both Gandalf and Thorin had already left, no breakfast taken with them, but simply a note that said ‘thank you for dinner’, and the contract. His chest hammered then, knowing his house was once again emptied. His eyes flickered down and there below was a ticket that would leave in a week.

            He shook his head. “This is nonsense, William Baggins, you know this is just a mad dream…” his hand rubbed over his mouth as his eyes turned back to the ticket and contract. It was a partnership, to split the profit of the series, whatever it may be. They would split costs, though Thorin had offered to pay for all of it, as he was the investor. “No, stupid.” He turned back and looked out the window- the same little town it had always been.

            Always small but bustling. Well, perhaps not small anymore. But it was the same…

            _It…_ “It will _be_ the same when I return…” his eyes stared out to the window and then turned back to the ticket, chest pounding and tight. “What am I thinking?” He rushed about his house, packing clothes, writing notes to his business he would take a trip, but they were harried, perhaps he could hand them off. It didn’t matter. He packed clothes for a week or two, strapped it to his back, several smaller bags filled with food and other such necessities, though he was unsure what they would need.

            He rushed out of his house and stood upon the first step- He had notebooks in his bag and pens ready for use. His eyes stared out- they must have caught a carriage- the steam-powered ones were _hardly_ common, but they were around. He began to run. He ran down the path, down to the center of the town. He shoved past, chest leading his way. He came to the inn and hired a carriage, asked if he had seen another and indeed they had been heading towards—“Great go that way then!” He all but shouted and threw his things within, tossed money to driver, who started up the horse and hurried after.

            “Great heavens, what _am_ I doing?” He whispered to himself.

            The driver, who had picked up the odd pair of Thorin and Gandalf, was minding his business as the two spoke in private.

            “I was so sure that he would come,” Gandalf sighed.

            “I am not shocked,” Thorin murmured, puffing smoke from his pipe and Gandalf shook his head. “He seems more content than you expected.”

            “You do not know him as I do,” Gandalf argued though. “He used to be bright and willing. Perhaps a bit like his mother.” Thorin seemed uninterested and so the publisher ceased the conversation, that was until there was shouting. Both Thorin, Gandalf _and_ the driver stopped to look about, and there… over the ridge came a horse drawn carriage-

            “What in heaven’s name is that?” Thorin tutted angrily- “Such a rush—“

            “I believe that is your writer, Mister Durin,” Gandalf asked for the driver to wait and he stepped from the steam-carriage and waited outside as the horse-drawn carriage eventually came to a halt. Bilbo all but _fell_ out of the carriage with his pack, Gandalf chuckling. “Well, if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I would have said that Thorin was a liar, but here you stand.” At this point, Thorin too, stepped from the carriage, glaring in _stun_ , Gandalf added to himself. Bilbo was panting as if he had run all this way.

            “…I signed it!” He waved the contract, paying for the carriage and the man snorted and laughed, but took his pay and turned the carriage back around. “I agree to helping you. I’ll… I’ll travel.” Thorin blinked as he drew the papers between his fingers and read the signature with a raised brow.

            “More than meets the eye,” Gandalf smiled and Thorin took a breath.

            “Toss your things in the back then, Master Baggins,” he sighed though and stepped inside- “We are staying at an inn several miles from here, I’d like to reach before nightfall.” Bilbo frowned a bit, assumingly had thought the adventurer would have been pleased, but was gruff.

            “I would not mind the chide,” Gandalf patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “He is as thick as he—“

            “I _am_ listening, Gandalf,” both writer and publisher shared a smile as they climbed back into the steam-carriage as it came to life and began its journey to their first destination. They shared the carriage in mostly silence, before Gandalf asked what Bilbo had brought in such a large bag. Unsure of how to react, Bilbo said he wasn’t sure what he needed, so he brought a variety of clothes, things they would need, herbs for healing and home remedies, a book of plants and their uses, flints, candles, a book—“You brought a book?” Thorin was heaving a sigh when-

            “It’s blank,” Bilbo added quickly, hurriedly. “For your story.” Steely blue eyes landed upon the little writer who seemed to shrink at his glance. “Notes. I’m… I figured we would have time to resupply, but…” His eyes downcast, Thorin finally relaxed and let out a little chuckle.

            “I hope in all those pockets you have stashed a book of maps then too?” Bilbo’s cheeks lit and he nodded, drawing out a few small leaflets of some smaller cities some miles from more larger and bigger cities. A compass he had brought too. That was the first smirk Bilbo had seen, the closest thing he could see to a smile upon his face. He lowered his eyes, immediately, feeling a bit flustered.

            My, but this trip just might be more than Bilbo could have _dreamed_ of.


	2. A Willing Heart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barely left his home and Bilbo really has his doubts about this "adventure" that this "Thorin" is going to take him on. If only, to lessen the obvious tension, if something or someone could accompany them... but just maybe, this book, this idea is enough for both writer and adventurer to, eh, set aside their differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 199 hits, and it's been like... five days? *Absolutely floored/flattered* Geez, I don't know what to do with myself! I know I said bi-weekly, and that's the longest you will go without having the following chapter! I might add another before that time, just as a heads up! (^w^) Thanks so much for reading, *whispers*leavecommentsprecious*clears throat* No idea what happened. I'd like to know what you guys think :D Obviously I know what I think and my editor thinks, shaaaaare.  
> Side note on the note: not really sure if I'll make a "summary" for every chapter, considering some may be longer or shorter, or have less development that needs to be "written" so it may turn out to be "they continue overhill *cue music*" or something (m_ _m) forgive me, I don't usually write chapter summaries for myself. But... I'm winging it here!  
> Enjoy this next installment! (if I haven't mentioned this is a slow burn, this is a sloooooow burn. As characters are introduced, I'll tag them appropriately) now! READ. I COMMAND THEE.)

**(Chapter2: A Willing Heart?)**

            It was raining by the time they arrived in the next city over, a downpour that had been creeping in for some time. Gandalf ordered their rooms as Bilbo and Thorin tried _not_ to shake themselves off in the foyer of the inn. They were lead to a nice, large room, with two separate bedrooms available.

            “Um, Gandalf, there…” he pointed. “There are only two beds.”

            “Ah, why yes, there are, what a good deduction that was,” Bilbo blinked, raising an eyebrow high upon his forehead. “I will be leaving tonight.” Bilbo let out a great sigh of relief, though he straightened immediately upon comprehending the words.

            “L… Leaving, tonight, why I thought-“

            “I will meet with you in another city, I have much to do before seeing you and Thorin off by the end of of the week,” he smiled kindly and Bilbo let out what could only be _another_ sigh. “Do not fret, Bilbo. Together, we will make plans for this trip, have a little faith.” Bilbo tutted.

            “In what? In a crazy old man who likes to meddle in the affairs of others?” His voice was tight. “That you… I should trust a stranger?”

            “He is giving you that same amount of trust, no doubt,” for a moment Bilbo let his eyes lower, and then he glanced back to Thorin who was undoing the tie in his hair, shuffling his wet clothes to the fire side, and giving a shudder of those broad shoulders from the wet chill settling in. “This is an adventure, my friend. One perhaps, you will find yourself not _wanting_ to be over so quickly.” He gave a squeeze to his friend’s shoulder and said his goodbyes to Thorin. After he left, the room grew quiet.

            “You should draw those off,” Thorin murmured as he walked by, drawing the thick, wet tunic above his head. “If you rest them by the fire they will be dry by morn’.” Bilbo coughed when he saw the bared torso of his companion, and averted his eyes as quickly as he could. “Tomorrow we can discuss what we’ll need and…” his eyes raised to see the writer stiff, rubbing his arm- embarrassed perhaps? He had to admit, the writer was meek, but there was something _strong_ about him. He let out a light breath. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about the story, where we’ll be going.” He said. “How does that sound?” Bilbo just nodded and said ‘yes’ after a moment. “I am surprised though, you caught up to us.” Bilbo turned as Thorin headed for his bag beside the door so that he could pick it up and haul it to his choice room. Their eyes connected as Thorin looked over his shoulder. “Might make a traveler out of you.” There was that _damned_ smirk, Bilbo named it _damned_ since it had _such_ a large impact upon him! “A wee one.” Bilbo furrowed his brows at the _small_ comment, and huffed before drawing his things to his room.

            The writer, by the time he entered his room was absolutely _glowing._ His cheeks were dark, his heart speeding, sure it wasn’t strange for men to strip off their shirts and bask in their own masculinity, especially when they were soaked, wet and cold, but… But Bilbo was a proper gentleman, raised with such etiquette that the _action_ of _disrobing_ was far more _stunning_ than what he actually saw. He had turned away quickly, the glance long enough to see muscle… to desire to see _more._ What details were there had been lost on Bilbo, for the glance was too quick, and he was _trying_ not to let his gaze linger. _W-Who just does such a thing!_ He wanted to ask, but the blonde writer knew, there was nothing to be fussy about, nothing to complain for. If Thorin did not mind, then… then Bilbo would not either.

            When he returned to the living room, Thorin was _still_ shirtless, sitting by the fire, presumably, drying his hair. Bilbo was unsure, though the wet locks remained unbound. He fumbled a bit as Thorin finally raised his eyes. “I did not think you would rejoin me after you scurried off.” He watched his rosy cheeks brighten again, chuckling as he folded up a map and handed it to Bilbo, who came and tentatively took it. “That’s our first destination, not far, so if you get cold feet you can hop-skip back on home.” Bilbo raised his eyes from the map to meet the adventurer.

            “I said I would go on this venture with you,” Bilbo began to argue, side stepping to meet his gaze better. “And I will.” Thorin gave him a look that made him shiver, one laced with disagreement and sarcasm.

            “I doubt your resilient heart has hardened over one evening,” Thorin waved for the chair beside him. “But if you insist.” Bilbo let his lips purse, Thorin was just mocking him at this point. They remained silent for a moment before the writer went and took the seat. There was a long silence that spanned between them, Bilbo cautiously looked at the map- it was the country next to them, filled with hillsides, small mountains and plains for miles. Bilbo did not know what they could capture here. His eyes raised when he heard a clicking, curious. Thorin was overlooking some sort of camera. Though machinery and technology was rare, it seemed fit that he should have one. “My father’s.” He mentioned and Bilbo jumped at the words. “Gave it to me when I was boy, thought I would lose my interest in it, but, here I am.” He looked up to the fire, and then, let his eyes skim over to the blonde. Eventually their eyes met and then, they dropped.

            Well, Bilbo dropped his. Embarrassed, flushed. “You should eat.”

            “Do you not eat?” Thorin raised his brows at the question. “Or am I that intolerable? That you would tell me to eat without you?” Thorin sighed.

            “You have not eaten since you left, I doubt you ate when you did leave,” he set his camera aside. “I only assumed you were hungry after the journey.” He stood then and stretched. “If you are not, suit yourself.” He disappeared into his room and returned with a light tunic and stepped out of their room, for food or drink or… company of another sort, Bilbo assumed. The writer stared at the camera for a long while wondering- how often Thorin looked through that lens and what it was he had seen to make him so…

            So _cold._

            Bilbo did venture out to the inn’s main dining hall, interested in conversation and food, and also possibly finding where his travelling companion had wandered off too. He found himself at the bar, chatting to the bartender, before he was served a warm plate of bread, meats and cheeses, all too happy to fill his stomach. Several of the other residents used the inn as a type of pub, and Bilbo found easily enough the conversation and laughter he’d be yearning for in the folk staying as well as the countrymen who lived there. It was much like his own city, quaint, but filled with a great many people’s.

            He eventually found his way back to his shared room, stomach full and clothes dried by the fire. He did not stay up for Thorin and only kept a few candles lit in the main room to help guide his companion inside. The bed wasn’t home, nor was it his own town’s wonderful and cozy inn, but Bilbo would relish having a real cotton pillow and down blankets for as long as he could.

            Bilbo woke to the sounds of birds chirping, the busy town waking up for its morning routine. He smiled and took a long stretch before shuffling out of the bed and dressing himself. He was surprised to see Thorin up, since he had not seen him return, he half expected the adventurer to be drunk or passed out somewhere in the room.

            “Good morning,” Bilbo said softly, but the other did not bother looking up.

            “Indeed it is,” he replied instead making Bilbo purse his lips again. Thorin was looking at a few maps, he must have been charting their route along the countryside or whatever, Bilbo was sure he would not hear of this plan until they were _upon_ it. No harm in getting an idea, then, as he moved over and looked at the trail.

            “Er, we are not really taking such a long path _around_ this mountain range, are we?” Bilbo pointed, and then noticed that Thorin had charted going over it. “I am sorry, but that is not going to work out.” He could see the frustration in the man, could see his eyes roll behind his eyelids before they eventually peered up to his.

            “And pray tell, what issue do you have with this?” He waved his hand across the maps.

            “There is a town here,” He pointed, north of the mountain range and _path_ Thorin desired to travel. “We could stop there, and take this lower path. We could resupply at that town.” He argued, giving Thorin a glare for his troubles- if they were going to be backpacking _the entire_ way around, they would _eventually_ have to stop to resupply. Might as well do it when towns were available, Bilbo had believed.

            “If I had wanted to travel that way, I would have gone that way,” Thorin cleared the issue. “We are going this way. We won’t need to resupply _anything_ until we are past the mountains, here.” He pointed to another small town on the other side of the range. “Besides, that path is mostly used for merchants and pedestrian travel.”

            “I hate to point it out, but we _are_ pedestrian travelers,” Bilbo restated and Thorin sneered.

            “I am forgetting you are an amateur,” He tutted. “We are going this way, end of discussion, Master Baggins, I suggest you acquaint yourself with taking the roads less travelled.” Bilbo frowned outright, letting his arms fold over his chest.

            “I thought we also agreed _you_ would take care of my safety, it’s not as ifI have experience _rock climbing_ ,” he was nervous, felt the jitters slipping into his fingers. Confrontations were not his forte, and he would rather just take an easier path. “What if I met you—“

            “I have guaranteed your safety, to the best of my ability,” the adventurer grit out, his teeth filing against one another. He had gone out to clear his head and fetch a few local maps of the area, as well as discover any information the landscape could harbor ill-wills from the locals. He had heard there was a narrow path that circled around the mountainside that had _a wonderful_ view of the valleys below, especially during a sunrise and sunset. He wished to capture those image and also immerse himself in the afternoon fog cover was said to plague the mountainside. “There is a path along the mountains, narrow as I was informed, and plenty of danger, however nothing I would not risk _my own life_ for. I hardly think a little hiking is a danger to you.” He straightened and remained still, hoping to impose upon the writer, who did back off. “If you thought we were taking some walking holiday in green fields and seeing nothing of import, you are more than welcome to return to your home.”

            Frustrated, Bilbo huffed at the adventurer and left their room for the inn’s diner, needing a bit of air from such a stubborn and rude person. He ordered breakfast and was given a heaping portion, grateful at least, that he could enjoy civilization for the last few days with _loads_ of good food. A few men came in, shoving a few other guests about and sitting at the bar, shouting out obscenities and other such no-good words. The writer tried to ignore them, but felt their stares- the company he had met yesterday, had shared drinks and laughed with, all knew he was not from around here, and could tell he was…

            _Well off._ After he explained _whom_ he was, a few had even wanted his signature in books he had written- Now though heavy glares were upon him, so he tried to eat as quickly as possible. When they began to approach he was startled, greatly, by Thorin taking a seat across from him, growling to himself as he set a large mug of ale down. He wanted to thank him greatly, but, he saw those eyes, narrowed upon him- and then they turned to the burly men at the bar who had… ceased to move. They turned back into their seats and Bilbo slumped within his own. “You ought to stay close in towns you are unfamiliar with.” Thorin lit his pipe then, waving it to clear the smoke before meeting Bilbo’s eyes. “We aren’t in the safety of your town, where you know the farmers and traders.” He glanced over to the thugs at the bar- “I would rather _avoid_ incidents as much as possible.” Bilbo returned his gaze with owling eyes, he hadn’t expected _that_ sort of… concern at all.

            “Oh,” Bilbo managed. “I did not think it would _be_ a bother—“

            “It is a bother,” He snapped, in a harried and whispered tone then, sat back with a groan. “I promised that old man I would do what I could to look after you.” Thorin brought the pipe to his lips. “It’s a courtesy, I expect some of that to be returned.” The blonde gave the adventurer a look that spoke disbelief. Bilbo should have _known_ there was a motive to keep Bilbo within eyesight, the man before him held no _personal_ care for him, just his safety for their mutual friend.

            “I will try then, not to wander far from your watchful gaze,” he snarled out lowly in return as he continued on his breakfast of eggs and biscuits. Thorin watched the writer for a long while without his notice, smoking his pipe and keeping a wary eye upon the local thugs who’d decided to enter the establishment. He wondered if the entire trip would be on clipped words and little shared conversation, that was fine for Thorin, he could accomplish much with silence. Had he a _choice_ he would prefer a companion to speak with but Bilbo seemed intent on rubbing him the wrong way, as he was sure he did the same for the witty writer. Eventually the thugs deemed Bilbo was not worth their time, and left, but Thorin would not let the writer wander needlessly.

            “We should go together, if you feel the need to wander,” Thorin spoke after a long silence between them. He expected a retort, a huff whilst claiming that he did not need a babysitter. However, Bilbo admitted he had been worried for a moment, and his eyes flashed to meet those concerned hazel eyes staring down at his coffee. I was a bit nervous they were going to hassle me, quite a few residents and visitors knew who I was, and those that didn’t… “What?”

           “They recognized my good clothes, as… well, good clothes,” shyly and quite embarrassedly, Bilbo raised his eyes to Thorin’s. Perhaps he was being a bit _childish_ , arguing with the man who, essentially, was funding and running this trip. “Thanks for… sitting with me, if only to keep them away.” He rubbed his eyes. And for a while Thorin was unsure what to reply with. The writer clearly did not agree with his company, yet here he was admitting his wrongs, Thorin would never bravely admit his wrong-doings, at least not to a stranger.

           “It was nothing worth thanking me for,” he saw the writer’s shoulders fall a bit-“You’re welcome.” A shift,  a head perked up. “For what you think it’s worth.” That earned a smile, saved my savings or my safety, that’s worth a lot to me.

            Well, Thorin thought, smirking as he took a puff from his pipe, _perhaps the trip will not be **as** dull as expected with him._

            They wandered the town that afternoon, neither spoke very often though, both quite unsure how to approach the other. They _did_ , however, find a mutual like for maps and were given quite a few. Thorin had no luck _asking_ for the maps as a traveler, but it seemed Bilbo had a way with people he did not. Despite his years of travelling and visiting foreign lands, Bilbo was the better mediator, was able to get them plenty of maps and barter _quite_ a few good necessities for their soon to be travel to the mountains.

            Thorin had to hand it to Gandalf, when he sought a man with a command over words, he didn’t just find some run-of-the-mill writer with a knack, he had discovered a little silver-tongued business man. Bilbo was crafty when he needed to be, which, for Thorin was a bit surprising. The two of them wandered through the various businesses, and anytime Thorin could not get a bargain he sent in the writer, who was always kind, but not fastidious about it. His geniality was truthful and it was heartfelt, it was no wonder when Thorin used those lines people gave him a once over before turning the other way. The adventurer stared down to the writer, who was plucking up a few small lamps they had purchased, with something akin to _awe_ upon his face. How could someone so seemingly _uninteresting_ and holed up turn out to be such a witty and clever creature?

            Eventually evening settled upon them and, not _quite_ wanting the day to end, the pair had dinner together inside the inn’s tavern, enjoying a good mead and oddly, each other’s company. It was when Thorin began to light his pipe before dinner was served that Bilbo piped up about what sort of pipe-weed the adventurer endured. That changed the tone of their would-be trip in an instant. And that is why Thorin decided to change the conversation _back_ to the writer, what did _he_ prefer.

            “Well, in Shire, we like to boast that we harvest, grow and sell some of the best pipe-weed one can come across. It was our biggest export when the town was but a few farmers and some merchants,” Bilbo began to dig for his own pipe. It was much smaller less decorative than Thorin’s, but nonetheless a sturdy and well-worn pipe. “The land in Shire is fertile and easy to farm, I’m surprised more do not venture out here, to settle.”

            “Perhaps they are not seeking a settled life,” Thorin shrugged, he was not, he could see the pulls of the city, but there was no reason to remain, no grandeur adventures or sights to explore.

            “Then you have not lived in one place for long,” Bilbo rested against the booth with a smile. “Enough about home, weed. We were discussing smokes. What sorts do you like?” Usually what anyone will trade with me—“And how far have you gone?” Across the world. “Well, I bet you’ve been smoking a bit of old Toby. Gandalf’s a wild fan for it as well.” Bilbo could remember when his father gave him a little wooden pipe so that when they had a celebration with the family, little Bilbo could go and sit on the bench in their garden with his Uncles and pretend along with them that he was all grown up, a big man by then. He smiled to himself and Thorin asked if he needed a pillow with his dreamy look. “Beg pardon, I was just daydreaming.” He waved.

            Their food, served, they ate and enjoyed another jug of mead. A few burly men came in, shoving a few clientele around, and Thorin kept his eyes upon them. Bilbo seemed outright worried _again_ to come across trouble. Thorin made no offer to aid, already suspicious of their gathering in such a quiet town. They tutted about the more drunk they became and eventually when Thorin and Bilbo decided they had seen enough was when one of them cut between Thorin and Bilbo. The writer tried to dance about them, before running into one. He apologized and received a moderate _shove_ backwards as he hit a table. The adventurer quickly stepped in to cease an outbreak, as did the bartender. Eventually the ruffians were tossed out and Bilbo let out a large relieved breath. “I remembered why I did not visit the tavern needlessly.” Thorin huffed, you draw attention to yourself, in your Sundays best. Bilbo frowned down to his clothing with disdain; he’d never needed to look less than the best. Thorin suggested then that he hand off his more frilly clothing to Gandalf when they reunited, lest they attract more attention.

            It seemed that what good rapport had been built today, was swept back out the door.

            Bilbo dressed in his pajamas and seriously considered if he could get onto that train without looking back in regret.

            The following days found Thorin and Bilbo _trying_ their best to discuss travel plans and accommodations, but the writer would not _have_ going the longer or tougher way. His frustration with Thorin’s stubbornness seemed to rival the adventurer’s own amount of stubbornness of living out of their tents for weeks. By the end of the week, Bilbo was contemplating asking Gandalf to send another with them, even for the old man to take a short holiday and endure these trivialities, so that he did not feel mocked _every_ time he was told he was too prim for the mud. Thorin had also received word that his nephews, sons of his sister, would indeed join them sometime, though he would need to pick rendezvous points for their arrivals. Bilbo did not believe they would _actually_ gain more companions, but he had _hoped_ that it would not be completely awkward if Bilbo and Thorin were not… exactly best of friends. At least then with other companionship they could have better conversation, Bilbo hoped.

            Thorin admitted his nephews were… eager and younger, their late teens, early twenties, and Bilbo asked then, why he had invited them along, if they were such a nuisance. That was an answer he expected to be lashed out for, but Thorin remained quiet for quite a long time, sitting at the table instead of by the fire where Bilbo was situated.

            “They’ve spent more time with me than they have, honestly, with their mother or father,”Thorin steepled his fingers together, pressing them to his mouth in thought- Bilbo wanted to know if he was choosing his words carefully, or if the situation itself was difficult to word. “My sister insists they do not come, afraid they will become wild and free and only run around the world. It’s… an experience I’m hoping... that I’m hoping will help them to see the world differently than they way they’ve been raised to see it.” The young writer, clutching his tea, wanted to know what hardships the Durin family faced after their company and main income was all but _driven_ into the ground by its competitor. Deciding that it was an off-limits conversation topic though, Bilbo resolved to never ask _much_ about it, and kept to the book he was reading.

            Two days before their departure, Thorin asked if Bilbo would help go over ideas for his book, such as where to start plotting points and where the places and story arc’s would need to line up. The writer was impressed with Thorin’s knowledge of mythologies spanning _many_ cultures, and wanting to weave them into this fantasy world he was forming from his _own_ mind. From the world he was living in. Bilbo envied it, honestly, this sort of outright courage to go and see the world and make it _his_ , not just sit beside a warm fire and dream of faraway lands. Bilbo was in this journey for this book, he wanted to see where Thorin’s imagination could take them. He’d spent all his life, riding his own imagination, this was the opportunity he had been waiting for, for a long time. The first part of their journey was not the beginning of the story, but rather, the beginning of the _history_ of Thorin’s story. In between the mountains, there lived a race of people who governed animals, who were half beasts themselves.

            The day was over and Bilbo was left wondering if he had even _heard_ an syllable the adventurer had said, so caught in the world he had spoken of. When he slept that night, tucked in the safety of four walls, he dreamt of the world the adventurer had shared, a world he was given _just_ a peak of—of a world _and_ story that could be one of the best stories he would be _gifted_ to _tell._


	3. Daydreams and Hopeful Wishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds out there might be more than walking that's involved in this journey, and isn't quite sure if he's got the stomach... or the willpower to deal with his fussy companion, Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 400+ hits! I'm assuming that means people like it! (^__^) Well thanks for reading it all the same, the next few chapters should come out pretty close to one another (is on a d*mn roll right now! Chp. 4 near done, 5 being written, 6 in summary/thought throw-up format as I call it) 
> 
> For those that are sitting here, sighing, why there is no smut yet, if it's an epic tale of slow burning why rate it M, this is totally why I added Fili x Kili in here (to hold ME over, I'm angry with myself that they aren't just rolling on the grass already.... So. Hopefully that will tide you lovelies over (^w^) Have at chapter 3. [If there ARE people wondering where Thorin's camera miraculously disappeared too from chapter 2, don't worry, it'll come around in chapter 5, he's picky like that.]

**Chapter 3: Daydreams and Hopeful Wishing**

            Bilbo woke well rested each and every day, though he suspected that these would one of the few times he would be able to _brag_ he had such a good sleep. Admittedly, Thorin was a bit more pleasant as well, whether that was due to their simple connections over the past couple of days, or if he was becoming more excited for the start of their trip, Bilbo was not prepared to discover the truth.

            Their things packed for the next day, Gandalf surprised them both. Bilbo a little happier to see the publisher than Thorin, honestly, but the writer was far more _comforted_ with his friend around. He agreed he would come with them to their next destination to discuss times of publishing, their chapters and whom they would meet with in order to deliver them. Relieved, Bilbo offered to construct a timeline if Thorin would be so kind to show him where they were going, and what the major chapters were, they could send letters in between if things arose. The three companions found themselves that afternoon in the inn’s pub, discussing where they would be travelling and whom they could send their missives off. Gandalf had many friends across the world, many of them _also_ were friends of Erebor Trading’s family. Thorin recognized a few names, though Bilbo knew none of them. Gandalf explained that a few were small businessmen themselves, and had been adopted into Erebor Trading back in its better economic days.

            Assured, they would be the ones to help the most. Bilbo jotted down all their names and their businesses, in order to be more familiar with them when they would finally meet. The writer would not let good opportunities to make connections and get better provisions or help slip by. Thorin had chided him he would not need to worry so, Thorin had all of their travelling accommodations taken care of.

            Bilbo could have protested, but instead, he ignored it and continued. Thorin seemed to do the same. When evening began to settle over the town, Bilbo found himself wide awake in bed, unable to sleep. What sort of journey would this be? Was he ready to go _backpacking_ into the wilds for… for some little bi-weekly publications that may or may not sell well? It was not money or his reputation he was concerned with, but rather, their safety. He was spending a great deal of time away from his wine business.

            So worried and fretful the writer had made himself that the evening passed and when he had finally been offered sleep, it was morning, and they were leaving. Groggy, and a bit snippy, he followed his companions out of the inn, paid for a horse-cart to take them to a train station—

            A _train station!_ My, but there were so few of them! They covered long distances, offered food, beds, and washrooms to keep clean for the usual two to four day journeys they went on. Bilbo attempted to find sleep upon the carriage but was often jostled awake or couldn’t get comfortable. It was almost _bothersome_ too with both Gandalf and Thorin eyeing his jittery movements and unsettled squirming.

            Relenting that he probably would not find rest upon the road to the train station, he tried to make conversation with Gandalf. He passed off notes for his Wine business, and asked if Gandalf would act as a courier between him and the harvesters. after all, there was no need to cease business for a trip.

            Gandalf had laughed, amused that the writer would be so concerned about matters halfway across the world, but Bilbo assured him that he would not leave his business unattended. This stirred interest with Thorin. He had thought Bilbo’s wealth had stemmed entirely from his writing. He hadn’t known that the man owned a winery.

            Nor did he know that that wine was popular amongst neighboring cities. At least, not until Gandalf told him. Bilbo continued, explaining that he wanted the relations to be kept with his main overseer, a cousin on his mother’s side. The elderly publisher promised he would do as Bilbo had asked, but Thorin had turned to question him. He was not only a businessman but a writer as well? It sounded like _sarcasm_ on Bilbo’s end, but he nodded, explained that he had taken over the business when his father passed. Bilbo had thought right then that Thorin might continue a conversation, just might find that Bilbo knew his way around business deals of a variety of sorts, he’d been prepared and eager to speak of it. Alas, he was greatly disappointed; whatever spark of curiosity Thorin had had disappeared. It was a shame too, because Bilbo had really thought they could have formed a connection right then. That they may have finally found _something_ that could lessen their clipped words and drawn out silences.

            Perhaps nothing more, he wanted a friend who shared his love of grandeur stories. He’d never ask Thorin of that.

            And the adventurer was far too proud to admit that a part of him did miss the comfort of a _home._

            It was late afternoon when they finally hopped off the carriage and entered the station. Large wooden construction with stone archways, the sight _itself_ was worthy of gazing upon. Bilbo felt his chest tighten with excitement and anxiety, but he stayed staying as close to Thorin and Gandalf as possible. He was _not_ about to get lost here and incur more of Thorin’s disgruntled wrath.

            They stood in line, many of the other visitors Bilbo was looking at did _not_ have the equipment _they_ had; lights, tents, camping tools were amongst the rarest of items. The writer was positive he had only seen one other guest there with such a pack, most were visiting relatives he assumed, with nice suitcases. He wanted to ask for a brief moment, why they could not experience travelling in a more cush-style, but when glancing back to Thorin… his mouth quickly shut in favor of observing. “It would have been nice.” Thorin and Gandalf turned their attention to the writer. “To go off like that.” Bilbo pointed to a family with fancy packs and little kids. “On second thought, the children.” Thorin had returned to face Bilbo, and the writer expected a sneer, but instead was greeted with a smirk. “I think I would much rather handle the wilds, than the children.” Thorin was quick to agree, though he was anticipating seeing his nephews, despite the dislike of children. Bilbo smiled, and Thorin returned it, filling the writer with pride that just _maybe…_ Thorin and he _could_ get along. With their tickets punched and their bags checked, they followed the signs to their train stop.

            Bilbo had never seen a train up so close before, and there were two tracks, right beside one another. Both of them had two sets to go in opposite directions, he assumed, but the train stations were going in different directions. What sort of place would they be stepping into? Sure he knew the _city_ they were going to, knew they were meeting a friend of… Gandalf? Thorin? Family friend? It was something familiar with what their trip, but what sort of world was Thorin thinking of?

            What kind of intrigue could the characters find themselves in, or what enemies would they face in the bitter environments Bilbo was _not_ looking forward too? He took out a little notebook, standing beside Gandalf who smiled widely.

            “Hard at work, and we have not even left the train station,” He commented to the writer who nodded.

            “It’s good to start out with where the characters are starting,” Bilbo added, jotting down a few feelings for the characters, what their intentions might be, what they would see. Bilbo looked up then, to his publisher. “You know how I write, are you truly surprised I’m writing at a train station?” Gandalf laughed and this caught Thorin’s attention too, though he only turned partially to listen.

            “My dear friend,” Gandalf squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder. “I am more surprised that you _are_ writing _at_ the train station.” He eyed the adventurer who heaved a large breath for a sigh, but let it out through his nose. Thorin was not sure whether he should have been _pleased_ the writer was tagging along so far, or if he should be chasing him off with threats of danger and the wilds.

            Either way, Bilbo turned back to his writing, setting a small scene in his head of the characters first steps out of their doors, the breath of the cool morning breeze, the hard soil beneath boots… Bilbo looked over the crowd after writing his last sentence down and felt something stir in his chest. It was cold at first, then blossomed into warmth.

            For the briefest moment, Bilbo _saw_ another world, right before his eyes. Sometimes when deep into his own stories he could glimpse into that world, into his own imagination, but never… Never had Bilbo _seen_ this world with open eyes, never felt the evening air settling in around him. His arms slowly lowered and let himself embrace the feeling; crisp wind ruffled his curls, voices of a celebration laughed in his ears, good food lingered upon his tongue. A party, a party would be their first chapter, the introduction of the characters and their stories.

            Maybe Thorin would like that, maybe he wouldn’t. Bilbo was far too enveloped in this experience that when he opened his eyes, he was being shoved about. He gasped and cried out, clutching his bag to his chest when he realized that people were merging into the train. His eyes frantically sought Thorin or Gandalf, but he could not find them. He let people brush by him in their hurry to enter the train and be sat down—

            Gandalf had his ticket checked when he turned and saw that their writer was still in the crowd. He had seen the writer go off into one of his little daydreams, but did not think the commotion of a train stop would be unable to phase him out of it. Thorin had turned to Gandalf as he entered the train, questioning where he had been heading too.

            “Our young writer, I’m afraid—“But Thorin whipped his head about out the door to see the writer desperately looking about.

            “So much for keen eyes,” he tutted to himself, handing his pack to the aged man before driving through the crowd of travelers. It was a lot harder than Thorin had expected, weaving between crowds and families, trying to get through. “Master Baggins!” He exclaimed, clamping a hand around Bilbo’s forearm, startling the writer. “Let’s try _not_ to get lost in the crowd.” He hissed as he tugged him towards the train. “It will not be so easy spotting you in a thicket of trees.”

            He had been so _relieved_ when Thorin discovered him that he had readied hundreds of apologies. Bilbo was quickly silenced with frustration, and his own festering displeasure. When they were checked in, bags stowed above them, the four of them sat in their cart, four bed prepared for the long trip.

            “I was worried, Bilbo, that you’d be left behind!” Gandalf exclaimed when Thorin and Bilbo came into their cart, shutting the door behind them. “My but your imagination certainly pulls you when it wants.”

            “Let’s _not_ have another day-dream in the middle of a train station again,” Thorin added quickly. “Can we manage to _get_ to what _is_ actually dangerous, before we have the losing one another worries?”

            “Really, you should be one to talk, Thorin,” Gandalf raised a brow. “Or do we need to discuss again how you got lost—“

            “Alright,” Thorin waved a hand and glanced back to Bilbo who was cautiously sitting down, as far away as possible from Thorin, gingerly. “I did not mean to snap.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s hard to catch the trains without missing the days they are gone in between for.” Bilbo nodded and Thorin let his lips purse and fold into a frown.  “My apologies.” Those eyes darted up, for the first time Thorin noted their color, a hazelish green, not that it was… important. Those eyes looked old, as if they had experienced great hardships, but their color, the way they glistened with _youthfulness_ … It was hard for Thorin to look away.

            “I didn’t mean to stare off, I just…” he gave a swallow. “I was struck with this great idea…” He shrugged a bit, rubbing at his neck. “I’ll um… follow your lead, and day dream when we’re… sitting.” Gandalf chuckled and Thorin bowed his head slightly, the frown beginning to disappear.( They waited upon the train for a while, ticketers coming to check their places and tickets, but when Bilbo felt the engines begin to roar… his heart leapt to his throat. He stood and moved to the window, sitting at the edge, and he saw puffs of white smoke slowly billowing from the front of the train. Maker, was this…

 _There’s no turning back._ Bilbo stared out the window and soon, the train gave a lurch and began to roll forward. Even though it was mostly farmland outside the town they had come from, it was enough for Bilbo to straighten, allow his eyes to take in the details of the hillsides, to… _really_ appreciate exactly what was going to happen for the next... well. _The contract said up to a year, but could be more…_ Bilbo didn’t know how they were going to see all of this world that Thorin had in his head in just a year. Or even a little more than that.

            When the train finally began to pick up speed, Thorin raised his eyes to start a conversation with Gandalf but he found them turning towards the writer. His mouth was parted slightly as if he had never seen the fields behind his own home. It was an amusing sight, Thorin’s folded arms loosened at the idea that Bilbo might enjoy himself upon this journey. Bilbo had turned to Thorin right then, readying to ask something, but then, their eyes connected instead…

            Knowing Thorin had been caught staring, regardless of the reasons, had Thorin tensing and averting his eyes quickly to Gandalf, starting some topic he would not remember later. Bilbo just smiled and let them talk as he gazed outside. The only reason the writer hadn’t said a word was because the adventurer had looked generally guilty for staring so obviously hard, whatever his reasons were. Bilbo had caught sight of Thorin’s eyes too and, for the short time they met, saw the redness at the corners, the dark circles under them, signs of restless sleep. Or none at all. He smiled as he watched the scenery pass, wondering if Thorin had been as excited as he was about this. Thorin probably wasn’t nervous about the same reasons as Bilbo, but he imagined there were plenty that overlapped.

An adventure. What couldn’t be _more_ exciting than the simple idea of seeing _worlds_ you could only dream of, that you could only visit in your mind?

            Thorin and Gandalf continued their conversation about their plans and where to meet, exploring further the different places they could return missives and letters to. By the time that a cart of food rolled by with a server, Bilbo had fallen asleep. Gandalf and Thorin agreed they would eat elsewhere, and bring food back for the writer. Gandalf asked where the dining carts were and headed that direction behind the server, leaving Thorin behind. Alone, Thorin checked his packs and then turned to the sleeping writer. He must have stayed up all night, rolling in a comfortable bed, wondering what today and the next few hundred would be like. He wondered then, what the writer was thinking, what his thoughts were on this journey. They had tucked the little writer onto the whole seat, as they didn’t want to disturb him and move him to the bed. A little shiver grabbed Thorin’s attention again. _Needy thing, aren’t you._ He chided to himself before reaching for one of the blankets folded neatly on a stand, and billowing it out upon the writer.

            Thorin would let him sleep for now. Maker only knew what sorts of trouble they might get into, and he would rather have two sets of well-rested eyes than only one. He was readying to leave when Gandalf returned, and led the way to the dining cart. Thorin offered up a few places he could return their chapters to, and Gandalf said all he had to do was inform Bilbo when they were due, and he’d follow up on the rest. Gandalf said he knew quite a few bird couriers that could be relied for times they would not be near town. He’d send word what to do if those times arose, and Thorin agreed, but assured he would _try_ to head for cities, less confusion that way.

            Evening fell upon them and both publisher and adventurer found themselves tiring of conversation in the dining hall and returned. Gandalf quickly and easily made himself comfortable in the farther bed, leaving Thorin to the seat Bilbo had claimed as his bed. Thorin sighed, _he can sleep when he wants,_ he admitted and was just about to wake him when he peered outside their window.

            A gorgeous night sky gifted them with a few of the northern lights, just faintly painting the deep sapphire. He stretched a hand to the writer, giving him a jostle to wake him. The writer groaned and glared weakly at the man above. “Time to get to a bed they provided and not the train cart seat.” Bilbo’s cheeks lit in the candlelight, but Thorin was not angry or upset. Bilbo took note of the _hint_ of a smile beneath his beard, and stretched.

            “Sorry, I must have dozed off,” he whispered, glancing to Gandalf over his shoulder. Thorin turned then and brought a small box into view, handing it off. Bilbo smelled the once warm food and hummed, he was hungry, and cold turkey wasn’t an _awful_ dinner.

            “Do not apologize,” he said, and then shut the box. “Look.” He pointed out towards the window, almost laughing at the look of _upset_ that passed over the writer’s face at dinner being _shut_ out of his view. When he _did_ look over, Bilbo let his mouth fall open in awe. “We aren’t far enough north to see all their colors or in their true vibrancy, but we are close enough to catch a glimpse, every so often.” Bilbo was stunned. He’d _never_ seen colors like that wave in the sky, never witnessed only _one_ of nature’s gifts. He must have watched it for _minutes_ before he turned to see Thorin long settled over in his bed, playing with something or another. Bilbo swallowed and stared back to the lights.

            “Will we be going that far north?” deep blue eyes looked up from thick lashes, why the sight of Thorin looking so _intently_ at him had Bilbo fidgeting a bit. His eyes lowered to moved his food around, unable to keep the stare. “I mean, you said it’s a sight to see. Wouldn’t you weave it into your story?” He played with a piece of turkey before his eyes raised, Thorin had that _same_ look.

            “I would like too,” He rubbed his beard in thought. “It can get quite cold, I’m worried for specific areas still being open or available for travel.” Bilbo chuckled and he was gifted a chance of seeing another expression upon Thorin’s face; surprise. A brow was raised high, the other lowered, questioning his laughter. “What?”

            “It’s just…” he waved. “I thought you’d go anywhere, anytime, regardless, and would just drag me along.” He looked up, hopeful, smiling. “I’m just…”

            “Just what?” That… wasn’t a condescending tone. It was… _playful._

            “Just mildly surprised you haven’t completely lost your brain, waltzing romantically into the wilds with a no-brainer fledgling backpacker with you,” for a second, Bilbo was going to laugh, but seeing Thorin _not_ doing so had him swallowing and trying his best not to look at the adventurer. He was _pleasantly_ surprised when he heard the man chuckle-

            “No, I am not crazy,” He waved. “I want a story told, not just about braving the wilds. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, I’ve done my share of growing up.” Bilbo blinked, listening intently, for all their differences, it seemed that, as long as they avoided conversing _directly_ about those differences, they could carry a conversation. _Noted noted noted!_ Bilbo chanted in his mind with a smile. “I want to write a story, and, I want to see it become something more than, some leaflets, and news of my death.” Those hazel-green eyes owled and Thorin had to stifle his laughter in a cough. “I’m joking.” The writer fell lax in the seat with a relieved grin. “I promised I would do what I could to ensure our safety. Try to keep _your_ end of the bargain, Master Baggins.”

            “I will try,” he bowed his head with a grin.

            “Eat then, and sleep, you won’t get comforts like this in the wilds,” he murmured and Bilbo nodded in agreement and ate quietly, watching the night sky. A shooting star whizzed by, and Bilbo perked, closed his eyes and _wished_ hard upon that single falling star.

            He had never wished upon a star so hard in all his life, save when he was a boy. _Make this trip worth my while!_

            Bilbo soon fell asleep, full and content, resting in the bed across from Thorin. This might not be what he had expected to do for the rest of the year, but damn if it didn't have its perks.

            The following day had Bilbo waking fully prepared to face the day, despite the swirling in his gut from nerves. They had one more day on the train before arriving at their destination. Gandalf would leave them after meeting with their guide, as Bilbo learned from Gandalf over breakfast. Bilbo found himself content just sitting in their cart, watching the landscape move by. As the day rolled by, the landscape became more rocky, slowly began to look like the mountain range in the distance was growing closer. That evening over dinner, Bilbo asked if the mountain ranges they were passing were the ones they were going to be… _mounting._ Thorin gave him an incredulous look, as if there could be no other answer, but Gandalf gave the adventurer a nudge. This made Thorin huff, before letting the frown settle upon his lips. “Yes, I plan on taking us over these mountains.” He watched the writer gulp, that head of blonde curls lowering for a moment before gazing back up. “We’ll have the guide, it won’t be as if we are _alone_.” He tutted, resting an arm on the table as he reached for his coffee. “He’s experienced with the mountain, and can take us up a safe, but rather unused trail.”

            “But we _will_ be scaling a mountain—“

            “He will have provisions for us, at a cost,” Bilbo nodded, and seemed to run through numbers in his head before Thorin waved his free hand. “It’s been covered, Master Baggins, you’ll be given what you need to climb, it’s a fairly simple and introductory mountain.”

            “So I was told,” Bilbo let out under his breath, but the words of the adventurer did little to convince him that this sort of mountain hiking was suitable to him. They didn’t speak about the trip for the duration of the evening, and that night found Bilbo staying up a little later than the others, watching the night sky. Bilbo was sketching the scenery out, not very good, but able to capture the moment thanks to his mother. He wondered then as he began to tuck himself into bed, _what would she say if she could see me now._

            Stepping off the train and leaving the station was a lot less thrilling that boarding had been for Bilbo. He had not gotten lost in the confusion, at least, and he was guided towards the carriages outside. Bilbo glanced back to the train, it still had another stop but they would not be taking it, their stop was here, this bustling fur-trading and livestock town. It was beside a large river, several types of mills running outside of the city, as they came into it, Bilbo leaned out of the carriage window to look at the city. Despite its overall _brown_ look, it had plenty of color and details that a first glance just couldn’t catch.

            It was happy hour, the three of them discovered, entering the inn they would stay at to meet their guide. Gandalf was surprised, he had said it was only 5 in the evening, but Bilbo chided that Shire had happy hour as late as 7 sometimes. The elderly publisher looked almost disdainful of such engrossing ideas of entertainment, but _did_ order a drink himself. The guide did not show until late that night, Bilbo half falling asleep at their table waiting for him.

            If Bilbo had been intimidated with Thorin’s presence, he was _certainly_ bested by this roguish man before him. Beard and mustache that looked as menacing as any dagger. He was balding at the top, or perhaps kept it cut like that, Bilbo was not about to question what the man looked like, Maker forbid he receive a glare that could still his heart! His name was Dwalin, was a small-time leathersmith in the city with his brother, who lived over the mountains.

            “Gandalf,” he tipped his head when he joined them. “Ah, so you’re the young heir to Erebor then?” Thorin stood and offered his head.

            “Hardly young, I think,” he forced a smirk, but the man returned the same look. “This is Bilbo Baggins, the writer—“

            “Yes yes,” Dwalin looked Bilbo from top to bottom _thrice_ , before offering his _paw_ of a hand. Bilbo felt like he’d be swallowed in such a grip. “Ever climb a steep hill lad?”

            “On a daily basis, or is this hypothetical?” Dwalin chuckled, giving him a firm shake which rattled Bilbo’s entire _arm_ but he didn’t let it show.

            “Either lad,” He took the seat offered to him with a smile. “It’s a steep climb, but there are plenty of flat places to make camp, even a few caves. Only a few mountain lions to fuss over, the trip is relatively safe, you need only expect the climb.”

            “Mountain lions?” Bilbo echoed and Gandalf’s brows drew together.

            “I was not informed of the lions here,” the publisher added.

            “I was not sure when you would arrive,” Dwalin ducked his head. “They aren’t usually a problem, but the summer-autumn transition is the time they are searching for new homes, especially the young ones who are adolescents, leaving their mothers.” He glanced back to Thorin who seemed unfazed by such beasts, but the writer… Bilbo seemed to be questioning whether the mountain route was even _necessary._ “We will not cross them. I hope to not have to.” He rubbed his thick brow. “They’re usually fearful creatures, the young ones are the ones who are a bit more daring. Do not worry, Master Baggins, you’re large enough to ward them off.” Thorin had a little _smile_ upon his face, as he folded his arms and even Gandalf chuckled.

            “Yes, large enough ‘round the middle, thank you for that lovely comment,” he tutted, though, knowing his size would not be detrimental to the trip _did_ make him feel a bit more safe.

            “You won’t have much to worry for,” Dwalin finished smoothly and Thorin asked where they could pick up their gear, and Dwalin said he would bring it here to the inn tomorrow at dawn, they could set out as soon as they were ready. Agreeing upon the time, Thorin paid Dwalin, who took _much less_ than Thorin was originally expecting. Something about it being _refreshing_ to traverse the open wilds for no other reason than _fun._

            Bilbo was twitchy upon getting into their room. Sure he had _an idea_ of what was going to happen, but hearing it just solidified the fact that he was _not_ on a vacation, that this could be a very dangerous trip if luck was not on their side. Gandalf cornered him at the table to plan dates to release their leaflets.

            “We could definitely do a biweekly publication,” Bilbo pointed out at the rough timeline Thorin and Gandalf had constructed the day before. “We’ll be in cities often enough that it shouldn’t be a problem for his story. Could be a 12-Chapter story, or a 24 depending on the content.” When Bilbo lifted his eyes, waiting for a response he found Gandalf smiling widely. “What? Why are you smiling like that?”

            “ ‘His story’?” He questioned and Bilbo let his eyebrows furrow together, tilting his head slightly.

            “Well, it is _his_ story, I’m just penning it,” unsure of where Gandalf was taking this conversation, Bilbo decided to let the old man riddle his way out of the unspoken question.

            “Certainly, this could be _your_ book as much as it is his,” there was a mischievous twinkle in his clear blue eyes that made Bilbo narrow his own in thought.

            “Yes, you _could_ say that,” Bilbo murmured. “But…”

            “But what?”

            “It’s not,” the writer looked to the fire, staring into it for a while. “I’m just being commissioned, because apparently, I am the only one crazy enough to be talked into… into going on a journey like this for a _book.”_

            “Well, doesn’t that dedication on your part make it _partially_ your book too?” Bilbo snapped his head back, and watched the publisher wink and retire to his room.

            “Old man,” he pouted at the shut door before he turned to face the fire again. “My story?” He looked down to his little journal then. “ _Our_ story.” It had a ring he had not expected. The feeling bubbled in his chest and made him smile to himself. Bilbo retired to bed then, considering _why_ he was there exactly. Thorin didn’t _need_ a writer, he could probably fudge it on his own, but… Bilbo had accepted the agreement to write it. He’d be able to add his own experiences to this book- he’d be experiencing a good part of it after all… He fell asleep, pleased and _convinced_ that he was a part of something _amazing._


	4. Misstep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One glance offward, a misplacement of weight, and you would find yourself in many troubles, least of all the fall." Bilbo pens, and wonders, how does he fair up the incline of a great mountain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO. Chapter 4! Heading somewhere now, aren't we? I originally meant for many things to be in this chapter, so that Chapter 5 would put us PAST what happens, buuuuuut, I can't help myself. I get excited.
> 
> Thanks for those that have read and continue to follow, I appreciate your dedication! Have no fear, chapters are still coming, I have a tablet now, which basically means "portable smut" to me. I'll be writing a bit more often, whenever I can spare! The prolonging of certain events is simply; I like writing dialogue. I like the awkward bonding conversation can have, even on the people who have such a great dislike of one another. So. Blame Thorin and Bilbo trying to talk for the delays.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter, I promise to wrap up this mountain climbing! I've only rock climbed, so if the whole using an pick axe-like tool is wrong, meh, blame the new Tomb Raider game.
> 
> Enjoy! m(_ _)m

 

**Chapter 4: Misstep**

            Bilbo was awoken by first Gandalf, then Thorin, who had barged within his room with a growl, and demanded the pampered writer to wake. Rudely disturbed, Bilbo dressed as quickly as he could. Thorin was hawking over his room, and it was obvious that he would have been ready to pounce if the man hadn’t slipped from his warm bed. “What is the matter?” Bilbo tutted, tying his ascot at his neck and as Thorin glared, eyes searing right through the writer. He swallowed and glanced to Gandalf who gave him a warning glance before turning back to Dwalin, gear in hand for Bilbo.

            “First light, Master Baggins,” Thorin snarled through his teeth, though took a breath and ducked his head. “Please, put these on, so that we may leave as soon as you are ready.” The adventurer said more calmly, though with the same bite his previous words had. Bilbo reached and took them, eyeing them with a bit of disbelief, but wandered back to his room, redressing.

            Thicker pants with _several_ little loops to carry materials or tools, Bilbo assumed. Two layers of thick shirts, one softer than the other, meant to be the undershirt, the writer assumed. _More clothes to haul about. Wonderful._ He _hoped_ they did not expect Bilbo to _climb_ that was hardly- but then his eyes caught sight of the hiking boots. Mostly new, the boots, but with well padded soles, and their own detachable cleats. _Oh… dear. Climbing a rock face, with just some nice pointy boots…_ He tied the boots up and tucked the thick woven-wool pants within, making sure they were snug but did not strangle his feet. He tucked the gloves into his breast pocket on the outer shirt, and stepped out.

            “Well, for a writer, he certainly can _look_ the part of a mountain climber,” Dwalin chuckled, eyeing Bilbo who came out adjusting the collar of his shirt.

            “Let us hope it also makes him _be_ a mountain climber too,” Thorin had his arms folded, a posture Bilbo was slowly coining as innately Thorin’s default stance. “You ready?” Bilbo nodded and Thorin looked back to Dwalin. The four of them checked out from the inn, and stepped out heading towards the mountains outside of the city.

            “Now, I’ve got plenty of rope at my shop,” Dwalin was saying as they strolled through the town to his house and workshop, letting them within to grab extra gear. He passed off two spools of rope to each Thorin and Bilbo, showing the writer how to wear them over his chest _and then_ put his backpack on. “You’ll want to strap those down tight, laddie.” He tightened up his pack so it was snug against his back, buckling it across the front. “You’ll want to keep it close, lest you lose it over a drop.” Bilbo gulped and Dwalin let out a hoarse chuckle. The writer wasn’t sure what scared him more about the laughter; that Dwalin _could_ indeed have a sense of humor and laugh, or that it was coarse from ill-use. Two mountain axes were handed off as well, Gandalf overseeing the venture with amusement in his eyes. Thorin explained that Bilbo could hang the pick-axe in one of his pant-loops, and keeping it within easy access.

            The writer placed his where Thorin had, of course, when the adventurer was not looking. As Dwalin double-checked over their materials and his own, Bilbo turned to Gandalf with concerned eyes.

            “Are you sure this is a good idea?” He said thickly, and quietly. “I do not think…” his eyes fell to Thorin tightening his pack up, and speaking with Dwalin. “I can’t scale a mountain.”

            “You’ve encountered other mountains. Larger ones. Written of them too, What’s so different about this mountain, than others?”

            “Um, this is one is very much real, and filled with real danger,” Bilbo feigned surprise, and Gandalf smiled though. It did nothing to comfort the writer.

            “Isn’t this the part where you would write your main character moving forward?” Bilbo opened his mouth, but Gandalf cut him off. “Where you made them press on, despite their own fears, knowing that it could hold them back? If they did not move forward, it would only make for a dull story and lead to no character development.”

            “We are _not_ writing about _me_ going on a _wild_ adventure, though,” He retorted, sighing loudly and taking a moment to step away and then return. “I do not need to experience the fear of falling or—“

            “Perhaps, learning to fall is also a part about standing back up,” Bilbo raised his eyes to the sagely words, allowing them to wash over him. When Bilbo found no comeback, Gandalf showed a bit of his own concern. “Thorin is not going to let such a thing happen, I assure you. Despite that outward… aggression and fussing attitude, he will look after you.” Gandalf let his hand rest upon Bilbo’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. Bilbo exhaled again, looked to Thorin and nodded. “After all, if you fell, he would have no writer and it would look bad on his resume.”

            Bilbo’s eyes _widened_ at the comment and was trying to raise his voice but found it coming out as a squeak. Thorin turned to the fumbling writer and the publisher, seeing the elderly man _beaming_. Something had pleased the enigmatic man, and Thorin was sure it was something he did not _want_ to know about.

            Leaving Dwalin’s place had a sense of finality for Thorin. This would be the _real_ start of this adventure and of his book. They left the city and saw Gandalf off in a horse-drawn carriage.

            Dwalin said that it was a little less than a day’s trip to the foot of the mountain. Most of the trip there would be through the fields towards the forest that lined the base of the mountain range. Oddly enough, Bilbo found the Dwalin’s information impossibly comforting and fascinating. For instance, many travelers paused at the base of the mountain to make rest, before continuing northwards towards an area dubbed the Mountain Pass, a well travelled road that swept in-between the break in the mountain range.

            Oh, and when Bilbo had heard it was flat, how he desperately wanted to ask _why_ could they not just take that route and steer _away_ from the other travelers. However, Bilbo wished _not_ to incur any sort of glares or wrath from his more _permanent_ travelling companion. So he followed after the two with his head held high, despite the onset of knowing that the path before them would be filled with slopes that might hold danger. His eyes took in the scenery around them; sweeping valleys of green, deep evergreen oak trees that shivered in the soft wind, rivers winding about the city’s farms, canals built to channel the water better. It was a sight, and even if it was quite similar to his own hometown, the mountains stretching towards the skies above was not a view the young writer had ever seen before.

            Past midday, they took a break under one of many oak tree planted by farmland for cattle. The bovine moved past the three travellers with little concern or notice, though Bilbo at first jumped when they had come within range of their meal. Seeing this made Dwalin chuckle, claiming that the writer was a jittery sort, and asking if he'd ever been outside his own _house._ To this, the writer huffed, stating he had been outside, just that he had never ate out in a field of _bovine_ before. Thorin had watched the scene too, in amusement, his eyes kept lingering on the mountains behind them, which caught Bilbo's attention.

            "So, I figure we have to start somewhere with the characters," sharp blue-steel eyes returned from the mountain range to Bilbo's making him gulp _loudly_ at the steady gaze. "What's the main characters like?" Bilbo tossed his head towards the range. "You've been eyeing it since we arrived. Maybe the main character lives in the mountains?" Thorin blinked several times, before returning his gaze to the mountaintops.

            "I was thinking of making them a hardy people's," his jaw locked a bit. His gaze moved back to Bilbo's who was writing down _something_ within the small journal. "Though, with the way you're writing I hardly think I need to explain much of anything." Blonde hair ruffled when Bilbo shot his head up, shaking his head quickly in a negative answer.

            "I! I'm sorry, I was just filling in the blanks of your words," Bilbo swallowed a second time. "A hardy people could be a variety of sorts. I was just noting that if they live in the mountains, they must harvest minerals within, making them a sort of rich people's, both status wise and in actual wealth..." He sighed and closed his journal. "To be honest, I am not sure how much creativity I am allowed." Hazel eyes were focusing upon his mountain boots, his eyebrows, it seemed, had sewn together in the middle in frustration. "This is your story, your ideas, your imagination." He relented and faced Thorin. "How much am I allowed to runaway with your words?"

            And for a great while Thorin was unsure how to answer. In one respect, he hired the writer to do what he could not; construct a fantasy tale of epic proportions without sacrificing strong characters and relationships. On the other hand, it was Thorin's own story, he had a very set mind on what should happen, where this fantasy would span, and how the characters looked. When the adventurer coursed a hand through his hair and undid his ponytail to let it down, he was surprised to see Bilbo still...

            Sitting beside him, patiently awaiting Thorin's response. He chuckled a bit and Bilbo asked what was so funny. Thorin shook his head, before combing the stray strands of dark hair that fell over his shoulders from the act.

            "I haven't had to think much about writing this story since I came up with the idea," Bilbo just hummed and... coincidentally opened his journal again, writing. "Did you just write that down?"

            "I'm taking into account that you... might not know what you're talking about," Bilbo said without lifting his eyes. "The main character must be strung from the same cloth as you." When their eyes met Thorin felt his cheeks light, surprised the writer had _such_ an intuitive mind.

            "You guessed that?"

            "You forget, Master Adventurer, I have written all my life," Bilbo waved his pen around like a wand. "And I have written many different characters, some not so different than what you want your main character to be." This made Thorin's brows furrow a bit. "I mean, of course you will bring an originality to ihim that I cannot..." But it was with a smile that Bilbo teased Thorin.

            "I see," a raised brow and Bilbo chuckled.

            "So, am I going to have as much creative leeway as you?"

            "I do not see why not," Thorin relented happily, sighing as he shook his head. "This book is as good as yours, Master Baggins, and _that_ you may pen down and have us both sign!" The two shared a pleased and satisfied smile between them before they cleaned up and Bilbo sketched the oak tree they had sat below, memorizing the hillsides and mountain range.

            Dwalin had them up and moving a few moments after, heading closer to the mountain. Dusk brought them amongst more travellers, many seeming to be exhausted after their "trek" from the city. Bilbo tutted to Dwalin that even he, a plump writer, wasn't tired yet from the hike.

            "Aren't we now?" Dwalin gave Bilbo a once over, extending a hand to his waist and poking, prodding until Bilbo squealed in shock.

            "I beg your pardon!"

            "I expected you to be tired by now," he wiped his brow of the thin layer of sweat accumulated throughout the day with a smirk. "Considering how we had to spend a great amount of time waking you this morn'." Bilbo's cheeks lit in embarrassment, lowering his eyes to the dirt road underfoot. "Thorin, laddie, you have a wee traveller on your hands." Thorin had turned with his walking stick in hand, as if to question what he was speaking of, but their eyes alit upon one another, hazel meeting steel in the diminishing light. "Little one isn't even tired yet." The writer had just prepared to beam with pride, when--

            "Wait just a moment, Mister Dwalin, 'little one'?" The writer puffed up. "I hardly think I am _little_ after the _fat_ comment you insinuated a moment ago." Though it was a joke upon Bilbo, the three of them did share in the laughter, Dwalin apologizing and remedying his description to small _er_ , instead of little.

            That evening, they found themselves amongst a large group of people. For Bilbo, it was a bit relieving. Once they found an empty space to make camp, he did his best to help pitch a tent, but he failed, and failed _badly_. Thorin rolled his eyes when he was needed to assist. He told the writer he would have to learn eventually how to pitch his own, and Bilbo nodded, but was allowed free time to wander the large camp. To chat. To talk.

            When they were settling in for dinner, Bilbo told Thorin and Dwalin that many people had quarries on the mountainside, and that it would make sense for Thorin's main character to bring some of that culture into his people and story. He also had heard talltales, children's tales of there being spirits of dragons living in the two mountain ranges; that they used to be active volcanos, but a very powerful cold spell came and froze their dragons, their blood turned to the jewels that later came to be mined. The adventurer was pleased with that information, and decided that the main character and his people should be dragon tamers and hunters, outside of being miners, since they would know the dragons best.

            Bilbo and Thorin would have talked deep into the night if it had not been for Dwalin who encouraged them to sleep. In the morning, they would get a head start on the wanderings of the merchants and other travellers. It felt like a little secret, at first, that Bilbo and Thorin shared, this story. And when they tucked themselves into bed, neither found it easy to sleep. They tossed in their blankets desperate to write further, deeper, into a world _they_ were making all on their own.

            True to his word, Dwalin woke the pair before the sun had even risen. Bilbo was keeping silent, his displeasure of waking before the sun had risen, but even Thorin had issued a complaint that they couldn't see a damn thing. The three did set off not long afterwards, but steered clear of the road, heading towards a river that was coming from the mountain top. Dwalin pointed out that the river ran down from the melting ice caps upon the mountaintops, the purest of freshwater on either side of the mountain. Bilbo looked to it, watching the clear and frigid water moving past them as they came to its edge. Dwalin said they could refill their water whenever it got low, because they would be following the rivers path up the mountain. With spare bottles filled, Bilbo tried to peer through thickets of trees to see this river winding down, but had no luck. He supposed he’d just have to trust the guide and listen for it. The sound of people died out very quickly, and was replaced with the sound of nature.

            Bilbo found it quite disorienting, to hear not the noise of city life, but by lunch when they broke for food, he was used to the soundlessness. After a while, he could pick up the different birds singing, the sound of the river weaving over large rocks, or diving off of slopes. Rabbits and squirrels scampered in the foliage, Bilbo watched and listened for them and by evening they reached a landing, that overlooked the top of low-growing oak trees. They could see the town they had departed from in the distance. It was a brown and gold glimmering shape now, and they could see the trail of merchants below pausing for rest or continuing onwards.

            Bilbo admitted when he curled into his bed that night his body was sore for walking uphill for such a duration.

            When Thorin woke the following morning, Dwalin had come to his tent almost as soon as he’d sat up. He wanted to show Thorin a glimpse of the sun rise. At first, Thorin was a bit reluctant to leave the comforts of bed for the sunrise he had not planned to see. However gazing upon it quickly changed his mind when he had stuck his head out of the tent to observe.

            It was a pale sunrise. Watching the sun come up and down from several different places had been something Thorin had seen all his life, but here in this crisp and cold air, against a background of deep blue and green… he saw things he had never witnessed before. Bright oranges glittered above and then eventually yellow _yellow_ splashed across the sky, lighting up the clouds that had settled in over night upon the horizon. This was the sign that something was wrong, in their story, when the clouds would part over such a scene, a war was had to be coming. The red sky at dawn meant, there would be blood spilled, this would be perfect for his book. He turned back to Dwalin to thank the guide for pointing it out. When they reached a higher elevation, _that_ was where it would get _far_ more interesting.

            Thorin rose the writer who was taken aback by the rising sun, it was not quite as red-orange as it had been, but it still made Bilbo breathless. I want this to be the start of the main character’s journey, Thorin went on to say over breakfast. That he would be overlooking his kingdom when he’d see the rising sun and with it, an army in the valley below.

            They spoke about the story all through the trip, eager to reach the higher peaks quickly. Though the pace was rigorous, Bilbo tried his best (and failed) to keep up. Sometime after lunch he begged for a break, and relenting they did so, stopping by the rushing river still not far out of earshot. Dwalin had told them that was their path, to follow the river up the mountain to what locals called Sunset’s Landing, or... Sun _rise_ Landing, depending on which side of the mountain you hiked.

            The break short, and quite unnecessarily sped through, Bilbo was soon hauled to his feet by Dwalin and who met him with a soft grin; you can keep up, Master Baggins, I have no doubt. But the writer had _plenty_ of doubts. By early evening, Bilbo was trailing behind, and so Dwalin insisted they camp for the night. A small grove of young pines provided a warm barricade between them and the cold, and offered protection from critters.

            Thorin was upset, and Bilbo made an effort to _seem_ awake enough to discuss his story, but was soon dismissed for sleep instead. With the information the writer was dragging behind, Bilbo believed their pace would slow down. But it only seemed to fuel the adventurer _further_ forward, making Bilbo become more irritable with both the guide and adventurer, who did not seem to _see_ an issue with their pace.

            More often now, Bilbo was having to ask for a break, a moment to catch his breath. His body was not cut from the gods, for _sure_ anyone could see that, and he would be the first to _explain_ he was a content, well-fed man. Taken care of, if you _must_ go and get snotty about it, but it was outrageous for Thorin to be so irritated that Bilbo could not keep up.

            The writer admitted he should be _glad_ they hadn’t had to rock climb yet, but seeing the clouds and fog above them did not bring _much_ comfort to that idea. He grew more worried the steeper their climb became. The fourth day _had_ them strapping on their cleats, binding their gloves above wrists _just_ to ensure they did not slip down the way they were crossing. And when they finally _stumbled_ over to the other side, flat once more, Bilbo just sat down for a break, Thorin sighing as he undid his gloves and cleats.

            “How long is this going to carry on, Master Baggins?” He asked with a growl, stepping before the writer who slipped off the rock he was sitting on. “We are easily a day behind for our arrival on the overlook.”

            “If I could get the _breaks_ that I need, we wouldn’t be _behind_ ,” Bilbo argued rubbing his back with a glare just as hard as the adventurer’s.

            “My brother will not be terribly worried if we manage to keep only a day behind,” Dwalin came between them, sensing an argument rising. “We are very experienced in this, obviously, Thorin, allowing Master Baggins the chance to breathe—“

            “I will not allow for more than two, one before lunch and one after,” Thorin argued back. “I am simply asking you stop bleating for a break every _time_ you tucker out. We will never reach the Peak at this rate.” The adventurer had stormed forward, but Dwalin _ordered_ that they take a break, helping the writer to stand.

            “The air is harder to take in up here,” Dwalin said and Bilbo just kept his eyes lowered. “Thin air, it’s not as well-supplied with the oxygen that we need.”

            “I got that much,” Bilbo was chewing his lip though, looking at Thorin’s back. “I just don’t have the endurance you do. Not up a slope, and not one this steep.” He was still _out_ of breath and Dwalin nodded.

            “I understand laddie,” he gave a squeeze to Bilbo’s shoulder. “I will try to get him to see that. In the meantime, eat hearty meals in the morning, I’ll start to hunt for something special for you.”

            “That’s just more work I’m causing,” He argued but Dwalin just shrugged.

            “If it helps, I’m willing, after all, I am being paid as a guide, I take _many_ people through these woods and rocks,” he chuckled. “There haven’t been any writers, but there were plenty of people out of shape and rich-folk who could not even make it to the base of the mountain.” He glanced to Thorin who was chugging from his canister of water. “Thorin seems to be a stern man, and unused to traveling company.” There was a gleam, something that made Bilbo feel reassured this was still the right decision. “I think he’ll come ‘round and cater a bit more to the settled-lifestyle.” Bilbo tutted then, and took his gulps of water, before they trudged on. Their pace was no slower though.

            Dwalin had his work cut out for him, helping the writer, and twisting Thorin into slowing the venture- the sun would rise and fall several more times, he told Thorin, with or without them arriving at their scheduled date. Thorin however, did not want to slow, but he _did_ allow the breaks to stretch a little longer than usual at Dwalin’s insistence. More so however, because the guide told him they would take longer breaks, or Thorin _would be_ paying the full price for this trip.

            Bilbo was pleased they were allowed longer breaks, so he did not bother to speak up about his sore or aching muscles at night.

            Despite the added resting time, Bilbo was still falling behind. He often jogged up the hill just to remain behind Dwalin, who checked in on him as often as he could. The seventh day proved a challenge for Bilbo. A wrong slip on a loose rock had him falling to his knees. As soon as Dwalin had turned, the writer was on his feet.

            “Just a misstep,” he waved, assuring the guide it was nothing, there was obvious concern in those pursed lips though. Bilbo was growing accustomed to reading lips and expressions through beards and furrowed brows.

            After lunch, he regretted not telling Dwalin it wasn’t _just_ a misstep, because it felt like his leg was _pulsing_. “Hey, Dwalin…” he gasped out. “I need a break.” He stopped and turned towards the river. “I just need to soak my leg. For a minute, I’m almost…” he searched for his canister and popped it open. “I’m almost out of water.”

            The writer headed towards the roaring river, just hidden behind the cover of trees, quite easy to navigate from path to river and back. He kneeled down and drew his shoe off, examining his ankle. It was a bit swollen, though Bilbo could not tell if it was from the fall, walking so long, or a combination of the two. He could would make it if they just rested for a bit, and if Bilbo could cool it down. He filled his water canister, standing to face Dwalin and Thorin when-

            Nothing. Huge hazel eyes darted about, but there was no sign of the two by the river. “Dwalin?” He called, hurriedly slipping his shoe back onto his foot, swallowing in fear. Perhaps they hadn’t followed to the river? Yes, that was it, they were just waiting at the trail, in case the writer became lost! “Thorin!” He called as he came out of the clearing, looking up the path- not a soul. They couldn’t have gotten _far_ Bilbo sighed to himself, angrily starting to march up the hill. “So much for ‘I’ll look after ye’ talk!” Bilbo grumbled as he took a swig of his water.

            That’s also when he heard it, a creak in the forest to his right, like someone was walking through but trying to get along unnoticed. “Thorin?” He slowed his quickened steps, perhaps they had just stopped off a bit further up? Bilbo tucked away his bottle, moving towards the sound he had heard. “Thorin, I just needed a break… my leg…”

            The writer found his voice _gone._ Out from Between the trees crept a mountain lion, eyes locked upon him as he carefully stepped out of the forest. “Oh… Maker no…” his jaw was tight as he tried to draw out his pick axe, as if he could defend himself. He fell backwards, his footing had been unstable, walking backwards upon loosened gravel. “Please no…” the lion was stalking him through the trees now, fixated upon his meal. Bilbo struggled to stand up, and watched the lion through the shadows of the pines, glaring him down, ears back, tail whipping side to side. “Thorin!” He shouted and turned, running up the narrow path as fast as he could, but as he rounded the corner, the path took a slight dip  which had Bilbo losing his footing again. He could not right himself in time, and so he chose to go with sliding down the mountainside to a flatter part down below, though not without consequence. The lion, of course, had followed with a growl, a fierce cry, echoing.

            The rocks upon the mountain had been sharp, his pants tore at the ankles from the slide but his hands were spared. The leather gloves he wore protected him well and allowed him to use his pick axe to ease his fall. Shakily, he rose to his feet, flipping his back to a tree to keep him upright and facing his feline predator. Just his luck, he thought, as sweat streaking his forehead and flushed cheeks, _just my luck I die by a wild animal and not the adventure!_ The lion prowled down, trotting over the slippier parts of the slope with ease, as if to _mock_ the ill-equipped writer—“Show off.” He whispered under his breath, preparing for the worst. The whistle of something bolting through the air attracted _both_ lion and writer, their eyes followed the path of an arrow, that crashed into a rock pile close to the cougar, startling the animal. The lion bared her fangs to the new disturbance, hissing in both anger and defense.

            Above both lion and writer, Thorin stood, bow drawn with another arrow ready to fire- _oh praise the maker they **did** hear! _Bilbo wanted to cry out, he kept his pickaxe ready though, should the lion change her mind.

            Another arrow whizzed by, nicking the cat’s ankle, making her shriek out in pain, hissing as she scurried further down the mountainside, deeming Bilbo _far_ too much trouble. As Bilbo watched her run off, he sagged against the tree and slowly fell to its base, chest heaving, and legs trembling. Dwalin was the one to come down the slope to Bilbo, quickly assessing his injuries, holding him up against the tree.

            “My ye are lucky to be standing—“

            “I doubt _luck_ had anything to do with it,” Bilbo whimpered out and that’s when Thorin came sliding down, worry creasing his brow, lips turned down with upset.

            “What the hell is going on?” Thorin demanded, eyes raising from a bloodied ankle to Bilbo’s face. “Where the hell did you sneak off too—“

            “I didn’t _s-sneak_ a-anywhere!” His voice cracked under the pressure of  his near-death experience coupled with Thorin’s wrath. He wasn’t sure which had been worse, the wrath of the cougar, or Thorin, breathing down at him as though he were prey. “I asked for a break, I went to the river, and you two were _gone.”_ When Dwalin rolled his torn pants leg up to see his wound Bilbo mewled in pain, grinding teeth together to stifle the noise in his throat. “D-Dear… _Maker…_ ”

            “Aye, you did a number, sliding down here,” Dwalin chided, though concerned and frustrated with the writer, he was not upset _towards_ him. “Come on, can ye stand?” He stood and offered a hand but Bilbo stumbled and Dwalin wrapped an arm about his back, stringing one of Bilbo’s over his shoulders. “Got you. Easy steps, lad.” And somehow, Bilbo made it up that incline and was nearly _shoved_ back down to a rock for a more detailed inspection.

            “I… I have some herbs…” Bilbo said pathetically as Dwalin looked over the wound with rough hands.

            “I’ll fetch some,” Dwalin looked about. “There is a cave, but a hundred feet up, we can make camp there, for the night.” Thorin’s nose flared in silent rage, his eyes dismissive of Bilbo’s own silent apologies. Dwalin instructed Thorin to set the camp and make a fire while _he_ went to find a few herbs to help fight infection and cleanse the wound.

            The writer had them in his pack, brought them as a precaution _just_ for these moments. He had _known_ they were bound to happen, and he could not be more glad his mother had taught him about these plants as he grew older… but neither man seemed to want to listen and he wasn’t in much a mood to try to coax them into it either. Thorin, on the other hand, could not bring himself to gaze at the writer, out of annoyance or anger, Bilbo was unsure. He wanted to tell Thorin he was sorry, that he should have made sure they had heard, but the dulling throb was enough for Bilbo to cease his fretting over the adventurer.

            Dwalin returned soon, moving to draw out a mortar and pestle from his own bag. He ground the herbs he had found and Bilbo watched with nervous and shaky hands. Thorin drew light from the fire to help aid Dwalin’s sight. With a bit of water, the crushed herbs turned into a paste, mixing easily with it’s natural oils. He let it sit as he washed the scrapes with cool water. Bilbo hissed and looked away in pain- he could not watch right then. He had long gotten used to seeing his own blood, wounds and scrapes, but he’d never had an encountered with a predator, a _cougar!_ My, he’d have to write that into the book.

            “D-Don’t suppose you would want to write this little tidbit into the story?” Bilbo squeaked as Dwalin took a hold of his ankle and began to spread the crushed herbs against his skin and into the wound. Bilbo covered his mouth and shut his eyes, the stinging shooting up his leg was unimaginably painful too.

            “Master Baggins, I would write it only because it adds thrill,” Thorin chided. “I do not wish to add it out of any humor done unto me.”

            “O-Oh I didn’t mean it, t-to be funny,” Bilbo chanced looking to his leg and looked off- “J-Just wondering, th-the moment is fresh, details could be good.” Dwalin and Thorin sighed, finally catching on that the writer was trying to lighten the mood.

            “Aye, if it was a romance novel, you could have the hero carry you down the mountainside with regality,” Dwalin chuckled and rinsed his hands of the medicine, rummaging for a bandage.

            “I… I don’t think—“

            “That is what the hero’s do, don’t they?” Dwalin laughed, and Thorin cleared his throat a bit.

            “H-Highly doubt that _this_ main character would have any sort of—ouch!” Bilbo growled out, slapping Dwalin’s paw away from his ankle, finishing the wrapping himself. “D-Doubt he is the type to feel any pity towards a… a blockhead like me.” Bilbo tucked the end of the wrap within another layer, and gave a few rolls of his ankle, hissing each time. Thorin hadn’t let the comment of the hero taking up the extra weight of the injured accompanied go unheard, and was _well_ aware that the writer was possibly hinting at the similarities between himself and the story’s protagonist. He wanted to ask if that is what it would take—“I think I could walk by tomorrow, and—“

            “Walk, laddie, I doubt you’d be able to stand with your pack, let alone carry on uphill,” Dwalin corrected, eyeing Thorin who had folded his arms over his chest.

            “I could too—“

            “I know a sprained ankle lad,” Bilbo lowered his eyes guiltily with a blush reddening his cheeks. “That little woozy fall earlier was not just a misstep. Maybe tomorrow evening we’ll see how you’re doing.” To this he turned to Thorin, though the adventurer had _long_ stopped looking _upset_ at the thought of prolonging of his venture. He tugged him aside-“You do know that ankle will not heal for another _few_ weeks, especially not when he’s to walk. It may take longer-”

            “I understand,”

            “And you are going to force him to? ”

            “No,” Thorin said loudly, startling both Dwalin and Bilbo who met the dark haired adventurer with widened eyes. “When we meet with your brother, I’m letting him off.” It was whispered now, and he suspected Bilbo _heard_ what he had said, but the writer neither retorted nor questioned it. They had dinner in silence, Bilbo tried to prove his leg was fine, but often had to grip the wall quickly or scrape at the ceiling to catch himself from standing.

            When they retired for bed, Thorin remained at the cave entrance, watching the night sky alone. Dwalin had been the first to notice that Bilbo had not been behind them, and the cry that followed after was not hard to deduce that Bilbo was in some sort of danger. He smoked his pipe, lost in his thoughts as he leaned against the rock wall of the cave entrance. Their destination point would take now a few days longer than planned, but he was far more concerned with the writer who was soundly sleeping those worries away. His eyes grazed over the sleeping figure and let out a puff of smoke with a bowed head. Thorin could not be held _entirely_ responsible, but he could not deny he in part, caused this moment to happen. That Bilbo put so much forth to improve Thorin’s opinion of him weighed heavily on his thoughts. It was with great difficulty he decided that _should_ the need arise to assist the writer, it would fall to him; for he was at fault as much as the writer. _This has to be a joint effort, now,_ his eyes returned to the sleeping writer, _I’ve journeyed for far too long alone, it’s… time I stopped thinking about only myself out here._ He relented to sleep eventually, truly wondering if dragging the inexperienced writer, Bilbo, so far from home and familiarity was a smart… _or even, right thing to do._


	5. Round the Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Bilbo had worries about continuing, they had ceased upon the sight he had been privileged to witness. But it would not last for long, and Thorin must seriously contemplate whether the writer should return him to the safety of his home. (I guess that works :D)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER FIVE. BOOM. DEAL WITH IT. Yeah, the mountain scene is taking a million years, sorry, I got caught up with it. Don't worry, they won't be going to the mountains for a while, until Moria- I mean, something like it. 
> 
> So, I'm not sure where their book is going, I won't reveal it much either, because I want to be able to keep the freewill to write it as something entirely my own design and not be disappointing. (^__^)v Have at Chapter five! One awesome dwarf makes his appearance, just as meddlesome as Gandalf (in my eyes)! And, I must claim I have no a bit of knowledge of remedies with plants, it's entirely made up in my mind for build-up. I imagine cooking or doing something wrong with it can have repercussions, so don't hate for my lack of knowledge. m(_ _)m
> 
> And 29 subscribers, holy crap, I think ten people is a lot, not to mention the 700+ hit count... THANK YOU. I'm normally a silent reader myself, so, seeing numbers is as encouraging as comments! (But I won't say no, if you have any) XD I will let you read now!

**(Chapter 5: Round the Bend)**

            When Thorin woke he was stiff, though he wasn’t sure _why_ he had been. Dwalin was up, and oddly enough, so was the writer, standing at the cave entrance, _both_ feet firmly on the ground, though his hand _was_ extended to the wall beside him. He had turned first, the writer, perked at the sight of Thorin drawing from his covers with a grunt and stretch.

            “Here I thought I was the injured party member,” Bilbo teased and Thorin shot him a look that made him shiver, the icy glare freezing him down to the bone. It was immediately warmed when Thorin bowed his head with a slight smile, combing fingers into the loosened strands. Bilbo had realized he hadn’t _seen_ Thorin with his hair _down_ since that deluge a couple of weeks ago. He wondered why the adventurer grew it out, or if it was just _easier_ to maintain long hair. All the same, Bilbo was eager to show that he could walk _just_ fine, after Dwalin had supplied him with proper medicine for his wounds.

            Their breakfast was quiet, before Dwalin piped in if they lost more time, it would be wise for him to head down and meet his brother. Inform him not to fret over their lateness, allowing Thorin the time to see his sights and Bilbo to come down. Thorin glanced over to the writer with steady eyes, watching for any sign he might be faking his injured leg. He was greatly disappointed in their hike that day too. The group had not travelled far, but it was farther than Thorin wanted for the writer who had to pass his things off often to be able to _keep_ the pace he held. He was concerned, but he found that not even the burly _guide_ could tell it was such.

            It was just irritance. Annoyance. When they made camp that evening, Bilbo’s ankle had swollen, though the little writer was content to have medicine coat it once more and be done. “How close are we, to uh, sun..set rise, peak, landing?” Bilbo waved, unsure which name Dwalin preferred.

            “Not far off,” He fanned the fire and drew out a pot for a soup for the young rabbits they had hunted that day. “Maybe a days’ journey, maybe two, depending on that leg. I’d put my money on reaching it early morning, the second day, as to catch the sunrise, make camp and I can return to my brother.” Dwalin had turned then, towards Thorin who was smoking and overlooking the mountainscape. “What say you, to that, Thorin?” he inclined his head and agreed.

            Though for a while, he had to try and recall what it was he had agreed too. When dinner was finished, beds and tents erected, Thorin was alone by the fire, whittling a pipe for his nephew. A gift. The sound of someone approaching had him lifting his head, Bilbo was coming and sitting beside him with his notebook.

            “So, who do you want to break their leg and fall to their death?” He had opened with and the adventurer gave him a hard look, but the curly-haired writer had not felt the stare.

            “No one,” He sighed and saw that pen flicker, saw hazel eyes widen and stare upwards. “You are insistent someone is hurt within the first few pages.”

            “It’s fresh, you won’t get better details on an injury, I swear,” Thorin managed a smile and turned to the writer who was waiting patiently; it seemed he had all the patience in the world. Patience for Thorin, for this trip, for this book, for how they would _handle_ one another _alone_ with his… pestering nephews.

            “I will pass on harming someone in such lengths,” Bilbo blinked. “I’m not gaining any sort of satisfaction writing you into the story, toppling down a mountainside.” He had prepared for the writer to just huff, accuse him he wasn’t trying to make this a comedy… but…

            But there was something. Something twinkling in those hazel eyes, a glimmer of hope or affection? A smile perhaps, and Thorin noticed, was being graced with a kind and relieved expression. That look stirred something in the center of his body, a returning affection? Was it appreciation? Maker, he didn’t _need_ more confusion then and he patted the writer on the back. “For now, I think we can mention there are numerous dangers the group found themselves _lucky_ to evade.” That twinkle in those curious hazel eyes only brightened and he laughed, looked down, alright, but just saying, missing a chance. “I think I’ll risk that.” Bilbo blinked again, pausing in writing. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad your leg is healing well.” Bilbo nodded, pleased he was too. The medicine really helped with the pain, though he would _definitely_ need some antibiotics once they hit flat ground again. Thorin promised that would be his priority and for a long while…

            Adventurer and writer sat beside one another, one whittled, the other wrote, and there was a calm sensation that grew from that. Bilbo wrote several paragraph’s, before handing it to Thorin, to allow him the chance to edit or correct.

            “Borrow it for the day,” He encouraged and stood for a stretch as he yawned. “I want to know what you think, if the introduction should change.” Thorin was holding the small journal in his hands gingerly. Bilbo did not think he possessed a tender sort of touch like the way he held his journal. But he smiled and turned away and Thorin had opened it when—“Oh! Wait. Um!” Thorin’s eyes shot up, curious at the outbreak and Bilbo’s cheeks darkened in the firelight. “Just… Um. There are drawings, in there, so, just… you know, read what I have and you can…” a cough, it must have been to clear his throat, or more likely, his nerves. The poor writer’s hands were quivering at his sides in little fists, which had Thorin _trying_ his hardest not to laugh at. “They’re just something so I have a visual to go back to and when I make a map or… whatever. Anyway. The story, just ignore the pictures.”

            “Are their contents something I should be wary of, then, Master Baggins if you are so terrified of my eyes seeing them,” He had the journal open, but it was just the cover. Thorin waited patiently for the writer to regain his composure and words.

            “N! No of course they’re _decent_ there is no… nothing in there like that!” My, his cheeks were dark. “I’m a proper person, I would not… just _lay_ such art about i-if I did it!” He quickly corrected, waving his hand and Thorin chuckled. “They’re…” but then that blush softened to something akin to embarrassment. “They’re just the landscapes, scenery I thought worth sketching for my own references. I’m not artist, not with charcoal at least.” He bowed his head and was turning to leave Thorin alone for the evening.

            “Thank you,” He said and Bilbo would have _sworn_ he had not said a word, had it not been for the utter _silence_ around them which only strengthened their voices. “For allowing me to read these before they’re any thing more than thoughts.” He waved the journal, Bilbo turning to face him, blinking with stun. “And good night. Rest that leg of yours.” The blush festered once more and he squeakily said a return greeting, _stumbling_ back into his tent. Thorin eyed the journal and leafed through the rough two chapters Bilbo was laying out in betwixt of these two-spread drawings of the landscape. No Bilbo was no artist, but he had captured the feelings within each scene he drew. Each image was clear, each brought something tingling in his chest.

            A few were of the city they had first stayed at after their initial departure. The rain had soaked through it seemed, many of the pictures were smudged to show that. He sketched a few of the window out of the train, of the green and open plains, and one even…

            Of Thorin sleeping in the cart in front of him. He wondered when Bilbo had sketched that, wondered if he had become a part of the landscape and feel, or if he had been the subject. He stayed up through the night reading and making his own little side notes within the margins of the journal; it felt like a secret again, something shared and for private eyes only. Except… Thorin found himself _thrilled_ by the idea that this story was _just_ theirs.

            He decided sleep would restore whatever urge he had to publish this instead of making it a personal accomplishment. The adventurer set the journal aside, drawing the tie from his hair, and moved to bed. He fiddled with his camera, checking for film to make sure that it would be ready to go when they reached their first destination.

            Thorin had not been this wound up or _energized_ in a _long_ time. He wasn’t even sure _what_ it was he was excited for either, just that it had him tossing and turning into the night.

            The next morning found them all _quite_ eager to reach the peak, a day’s journey, Dwalin had said. He led the way forward, and Thorin kept his eyes upon the writer who was trailing behind them. Not out of any real fuss that Bilbo would pause without a warning, but Thorin was concerned for that ankle of his. While Bilbo did a splendid job hiding whatever pain and suffering he was experiencing, it wasn’t enough for Thorin. There was always a fine sheen of sweat coating the edge of his hairline when they stopped for breaks, and his cheeks were often flustered from exertion.The writer did not ask for more breaks, just would wave if he was not ready.

            Concerned as he was, he couldn’t really _help_ overlooking the writer’s needs as they neared their destination. Their last break had Dwalin checking the area. They could make camp rather soon if they kept this pace up, that’s what he said before he wandered over to undo Bilbo’s bandages, and give him another coat of his medicine before binding him back up.

            “If we leave early enough tomorrow morn, before the sun,” Thorin’s eyes lifted from his drink, perked at news. “Depending on how far we make it to camp, you might be able to catch a sunrise _and_ a sunset. There is no point in leaving once you’ve seen one until the other.” Thorin stroked his beard then, remembered _this_ was where Dwalin had said he would leave.

            “And you’d take your leave that afternoon?” He nodded to himself.

            “Aye,” Dwalin stood. “It’s a lot easier downhill.” He glanced to Bilbo. “You could probably slide down with a talent like yours.”

            “What a nice thing to say,” Bilbo groaned, but there was a smile on his lips, and a grin upon Dwalin’s. “How much farther would we need to go, to be able to catch the sunrise?” Dwalin looked up and down their path, a few times glancing to sun and trees.

            “Four miles? Maybe five,” he glanced to the writer who looked _ready_ for that challenge. “That would be if you weren’t hobbling behind.” Bilbo’s jaw tightened, and Thorin let out an exhausted breath. In-between Bilbo’s pace being slow and his leg being wounded, he wasn’t sure if taking the mountain pass would even be worth it. They would probably miss both at the rate they were going. the better opportunity.

            “I could make it,” Bilbo tutted. “Wh-What if we left earlier the next day? We could surely make up time—“

            “I won’t risk further injury to that leg of yours,” Thorin finally spoke, coming back towards the center of their group. “I doubt that Dwalin wishes to either.” Those brows furrowed on Bilbo, hard too. He stood then, chest puffed out.

            “Now s-see here, Mister Durin, I’ve gone up this hill with _only_ one incident,” he cleared his throat, all of that courage was draining from him like a leech was sucking it out. “I-I have made sure that my pace was j-just as fast as before so that we could it make like we planned.”

            “We are two days behind that plan—“

            “I meant the second plan! Af-after I fell!” Thorin could tell the writer had had to restrain from stomping his good foot into the ground at Thorin’s stubbornness. “I can do it. I can make it, either we walk tonight or get up a little earlier the morn’ before.” Bilbo’s eyes were defiant, and seemed a deeper green than before when Thorin met them, testing that resolve. It was one of the few times that _Bilbo_ did _not_ break the eye contact first. “If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s determination. I will make it, and you will get to see both a sunrise and sunset in the same day, I promise you.” Thorin returned his gaze back to Bilbo, seeing him so full of confidence and heart…

            “So be it,” Thorin rolled his eyes, tutted as he turned to Dwalin. “We leave earlier tomorrow morn’.” He glanced back to the writer. “As to not strain the venture tonight.” Dwalin clapped both adventurer and writer upon the back and led them upwards once more.

            And Thorin would remember his surprise when Bilbo kept up, that they made the five-mile trek before nightfall. Dwalin said they would not have to leave early since they arrived at their scheduled destination, another shallow cave. Bilbo was tired, and he sat down hastily, before even realizing he should have made his bed. When he stood to reach for his pack, he found that Thorin had already taken hold of it, drawing out the blankets he had stuffed in at the top. Bilbo’s cheeks were red, the sweat still dripping down his cheeks and jaw, but Thorin smiled. “I think you’ve earned a bit of help, Master Baggins.”

            “You know I have a first name, Thorin,” Thorin paused for a moment, looking back. “I think we’ve shared a life-changing moment, think we’re at that level of acquaintance where we can call each other by our first names.” Gray blue eyes settled over the writer whose hand had stretched up to the ceiling of the cave, to help him stand. “Are you going to be _that_ polite the whole time?” Thorin snorted, his own cheeks reddening at being called out for his courtesy.

            “I was unsure how far you would come,” He smirked. _“Bilbo.”_ He relished Bilbo’s eyes widening at the call of his name, blinking as if still _unsure_ it had happened. “Forgive my courtesy. I did not think you worthy of being called anything other than what you were.”

            “I am hardly a master at anything,” He wiggled his nose, still _reeling_ from hearing his name come from Thorin’s mouth.

            “You are a proper sort,” he eyed him. “I did not think you’d come this far.”

            “So you’ve called me ‘Master Baggins’ this entire time because I wasn’t cut out for a…” he waved then unsure of the word. “For an extended holiday through the mountains?” Thorin barked in laughter and Bilbo shared in it too.

            “No, _Master Baggins,_ I did not,” he stood then, after finishing the bed for Bilbo. “You’ve proven how that a little dedication can go a long way… _Bilbo._ ” He squeezed his shoulder and stepped towards his own pack, moving it aside as Dwalin entered with wood for a fire. “Rest. The trip in the dark will be more dangerous than in light.” Bilbo managed to swallow down a peeping noise in throat, and placed himself close to the fire. Dwalin cooked some potatoes that night and had killed a few quail. It was a meal _welcomed_ by the three of them. Bilbo went down for sleep first, and could not help but _dream_ of what he’d see.

            Thorin was roughly disturbed early the next morning, barely before their campfire had dwindled away, by Bilbo. By the _writer._ His big and eager eyes were clear in the dim light; he wanted to go now. They could make it if they left. Thorin rubbed his face and groaned, but Bilbo was already out of arm’s reach when he sat up. Bilbo was waking Dwalin now, who was surprised, but began to pack his things to head out. “Do I even want to know why you are up before the rest of us?”

            “If you’re concerned about whether or not I slept, I did,” Bilbo beamed, standing beside him. “I’m just too excited. You should be too, this is what _you_ wanted, after all.” For a moment, Thorin was unsure how to respond. It was true. They were all there for Thorin to see this, to make this a part of his book. But he had not been the one to rise early in excitement. He had not been the first to disturb the others and beg to take their leave.

            That had been Bilbo. He was packed and ready to go before Thorin could even respond.

            “Is this not what you wanted as well?” Bilbo stiffened as he rolled his blanket into his pack. “You came along.”

            “I didn’t say I didn’t want to see it as much as you,” He was grinning. “We’re here, because you’re here.” Even if Thorin wanted to pester the writer further, he was packed and standing, carrying his bag to the entrance. Dwalin handed him two torches so that they could light the third when they were all ready to depart.

            The trip in the dark was slow, but Dwalin was a great guide. He took them up the safest path, pointing out any dangerous spots or slippery rocks. Thorin had noticed that even in this cold morning, the writer was flushed and sweating again. He wondered if he had grown an infection upon his leg, and if those flushed cheeks were not just overexertion. But the writer seemed normal, not woozy. An infection would have inflicted some other form of weakness. He figured he would discover the cause when they had a safe place to stop again.

            When they did stop, Bilbo was the first to rest his hands on his knees and duck a bit to catch his breath, drinking gulps of water down.

            “This is it,” Dwalin whispered touching the rock face at their backs. “This is the Peak.” He pointed to the barely visible silhouette of smaller mountains a great distance away. The town just a speck of gold amidst darkness. Both Thorin and Bilbo threw their heads up to stare east, eyes absorbing the light blue edge of the horizon. They set their packs down, and Thorin spent far more time drawing out his camera than necessary, he was so twitchy.

            Bilbo didn’t even bother bringing out his journal. He wouldn’t write. Not until _after._ They paced for a while, whispering in the darkness, giggling softly in anticipation, but Thorin was the first to catch it. The golden sliver creeping over dark mountains and horizon. The sky began to turn aqua as the sun peaked over, but it was like an explosion once the sun reared more than a third into view. Yellows and oranges painted nearly the entire sky. Clusters of peach and brick reds scattered in strands against the soft clouds. It was Bilbo tapping Thorin upon the shoulder that made him snap out of his daze.

            “Are you going to just drool, or is that camera just for show?” The adventurer had never stumbled in all his life, but being called out for _gaping._ Well. His hands trembled as they rose the lens to his eye. He couldn’t decide at first what would be best. A panorama? Just snippets of the cloud cover? Maybe just the sun streaking through the countryside? It was Bilbo’s laughter that had Thorin lowering his camera just the slightest.

            “And what is so funny?”

            “You just sound like a machine,” He chuckled. “Clicking away.” Thorin’s cheeks lit.

            “Aye, laddie, you were mumbling too, about what you were snapping away,” Thorin’s brows came to a point, flustered at being caught looking anything _less_ than a professional. TBut his breath had been stolen. No other sunrise could be like this one. There was just not a comparison for the colors or the view. Not with watching the sun rise and seeing all the land in its warm light would caress, waking people and animals from their evening slumber. Thorin was flustered, there was no denying that he was mumbling what he should have captured, and that his companions found it amusing furthered his embarrassment.

            Thorin couldn’t tell them to _pipe down,_ there was no reason too. He just grunted out his dislike, shifted and continued snapping photos, though now he was _quite_ aware when he would start mumbling. Dwalin had turned, seeing enough of the sunrise and began to strap his bag back on. “I’ll start the venture down.” He told Thorin who nodded and turned for briefest of moments to follow Dwalin to the other side of the mountain. “Ye follow this white rock here, it’ll zigzag down most of the way, and after that you can follow the stream, you’ll hear it as soon as you reach the bottom of the mountain.” Thorin thanked the man, and allowed him to go before he took another breath and facing the sunlight. He snapped a few more pictures when he captured something he hadn’t ever meant to include.

            Bilbo had been silently enjoying the sunrise, letting his eyes close to feel its new warmth, taking in a breath of its crisp and fresh air. He was smiling, content. If there had been any doubt in his mind this trip was worthwhile, disregarding their book entirely… he could find it in the trees, in the rivers, in the skies above. This… this very sunrise was worth his leg being injured, was worth all the huffing and puffing it took to get up this forsaken mountain to see it.

            And Thorin had captured _all_ of that emotion in a simple click. Unsure of what he’d just taken, he lowered the camera from his face, peering over its edges to see _exactly_ what he had seen. Bilbo standing there, enjoying the sun for one of its smallest gifts; warmth. Thorin felt his mouth part in _awe_. He never photographed people unless it was necessary…

            He raised the camera back up, and took a couple more. Satisfied with his material, they turned together to make a fire, to rest whilst the sun would rise. They had the day to themselves, though Bilbo expressed his worry for Dwalin. Thorin made sure the writer did not fret needlessly and ushered him to sit and rest his leg. Thorin was most _surprised_ when the writer did as such.

            The day was spent writing or talking about the book. Thorin ventured off to track wild game and returned with two rabbits for dinner. They would leave at first light, but not before catching the sun returning in the west behind the horizon. Bilbo’s eyes watched the sun constantly, and finally became antsy enough to stand and pace as he sipped upon his soup, waiting for the sunset.

            And my, but when it finally began to dip behind hills, Bilbo was committed. The reds, all shades of red from pinks to crimsons melted any reservations he had for this trip. The oranges tinged the sky like fire, the aquas and baby blues twined into the yellows as it slowly was overcome by the deep sapphire of night. Thorin had clicked throughout this, though Bilbo caught him quite a few times just staring over the camera’s edge, to watch, to plan. Bilbo had concerns for this trip, many of them resulting in the accident he had had over the mountain lion… but. They were long gone. His only concern was despite the cooler weather, he still felt warm. He attributed it to excitement and when they dove in for sleep, did not let his mind grow with concern for his flushed face.

            The slope downward was _far_ easier than Bilbo could have _imagined._ He wondered if that was just because they were done with the mountain, so it seemed less of a hassle. Either way, Bilbo was content that it would only be a two-day journey down the slopes, he had to eventually ask _why_ it was a shorter venture. Thorin answered the elevation was different between the two cities. Surprised, Bilbo asked why not take the easy route _and then_ climb the mountain from the _easy_ way up. Thorin only answered with a laugh and said it would take away the fun.

 _Fun._ Bilbo huffed to himself, following after. _Where was there fun when I found the cougar?_ By their second day down they could hear the stream that Dwalin had said to follow once they hit a more level path. Thorin had turned to Bilbo to tell him they were close to reaching Dwalin and his brother when he caught Bilbo swaying a bit. That flustered face was bright still, highly aware of his environment, but it was not just from exhaustion. That was fever. Bilbo said he needed to sit and as Thorin turned, Bilbo collapsed against a tree and slid to the ground.

            “I feel warm, I didn’t catch anything up there did I?” He asked a bit worried, but Thorin frowned. He could have caught _something._ He was not sure, the fever had warmed his skin, but did little else to Bilbo physically or mentally. Watching the writer close his eyes for a nap _further_ worried the adventurer.

            “Dammit,” He growled out- they were still pretty far from the stream and he was unsure if Dwalin had begun his return for them or not. He decided not risk time delayed. As carefully as he could, Thorin drew the writer into his arms, and eyed his leg. It was swollen, a bit red, but nothing… _damn he must have caught something._ As quickly as the adventurer could, he brought them both down the slopes and to the streams bank, making a fire and resting Bilbo beside it. He drew water from it, boiling it to rid it of anything abnormal and let it chill. He cleaned Bilbo’s wound, but it had not seemed infected. The medicine though, reeked something _awful._

            It was early evening when Dwalin arrived upon horseback, with two other steeds awaiting their riders. “We need to get Bilbo to your brother.”

            “What’s wrong—“

            “He’s got a fever, and I can’t bring it down,” Thorin confessed. “He’s been out since late morning.” Dwalin’s eyes bounced to his leg then.

            “The medicine, was it still a mossy color—“

            “It was turning brown,” he sneered and when Dwalin’s shoulders lowered, Thorin became a little _more interested_ what the guide knew. “That’s bad?”

            “The medicine might have gone bad,”

 _“I need_ a little more than _might_ ,” He growled lowly and Dwalin raised his hand in defense. They needed to go. They could make it to his brother’s home by late night if they rode.

            So Thorin set Bilbo upon the saddle of his horse, and they used the other to carry their packs and rode through a field of silvers and blues. The grassy field was one that Thorin wished they could glimpse upon _longer_ , but another time. Bilbo groaned as he was being jostled by the galloping horse, he woke every now and again- but he did not remain conscious for long. Dwalin arrived first, tying his horse off and calling for his brother who stepped out with a lantern. When Thorin rode up, he slid from his steed and drew the sick writer into his arms, Dwalin taking care of their horses. “He’s sick.” Balin nodded.

            “I could tell from afar,” he met Thorin’s eyes. “Bring him in.” Thorin followed the older man within his home, to a warm bed made of furs and straw. Balin pressed his hand to Bilbo’s forehead, and checked his eyes, checked his pulse. His eyes flew to the wound on his ankle. “It’s not infected?”

            “I had thought that at first,” Thorin offered.

            “It’s not,” Dwalin entered the room. “It was bad medicine.”

            “Used the wrong leaf again?” Balin asked with a raised brow and Thorin’s eyes grew sharp before they glared at Dwalin. “Well, I’ll see what I can do. Dwalin, set him up with a room, food’s prepared in the kitchen.” Thorin wanted to stay. He wanted to assist, he wanted to see those eager hazel eyes open, but Balin insisted he needed his rest as much as the writer.

            Not that he paid _that_ any heed. After dinner finished, he laid awake for the night, eyes flitting to the shut door of the writer’s room with apprehension. Balin had left a few times to bring water and other herbs to him, but he did not speak to Dwalin nor Thorin. Dwalin insisted he was good with remedies and not to be troubled, the writer would be alright.

            However, Thorin never had such a cause to fret into the night like this beyond _excitement._

            Now, however, _now_ it was _panic_ and _dread_ that kept him company through the lengthy and soundless night.


	6. Laying Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can you say when someone turns you away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO. CHAPTER 6. Maybe you all will be lucky and get chapter 7! We'll see! Pumping them out!
> 
> First, I'd like to say, no I won't use their "real names" much, if ever, perhaps when they're in cities/towns/back at home. Next, I gave them names because they are NOT in Middle Earth, hence some names are a bit odd, however, I don't want to take the characters too out of context, I might as well just write my own story (and yes I have plenty, I don't need more!)
> 
> Fergus --->Fili: several varieties of definitions are made for his name, but the ones I read all pointed me to a "Fili" character, charming, silly to "vigor" so I thought it appropriate  
> Keelin (pronounced 'kaylen') ---> Kili: So I realized after I chose it, this was the "feminine" version of a root name, but both mean the same thing (since they aren't mentioned much, no harm done) it's Gaelic, like Fergus, Keelin/Keelan means slender and fair, OBVIOUS reasons why I chose this name, Kili experiences much inadequacies as a Dwarf because of his age and his lineage "not filling in" or being "good enough" Whatever. 
> 
> I'm also a game nerd, upon realizing a variant of Keelin/Keelan was 'Caelin' I had this huge flashback of Dragon Age: Origins, then spent a fair deal of time realizing Fereldan is just a bunch of Scots/Irish people.
> 
> So we'll move on now...

  **Chapter 6: Laying Still**           

            Bilbo woke to the scene of pine and moss, to the smell of wet earth and wood. And good food. His eyes fluttered open and he gazed up to… large beams of wood. A cabin! A house! He sat up as quickly as he could and instantly, his vision swum, his stomach knotted together and he covered his eyes with a groan. Remaining still and taking even breaths he slowly opened his eyes to the room he was within; a room made of wood and a stone foundation, with furs at the floors and a small hearth to keep warm. His eyes took in the surrounding and wondered if he was dreaming, or hallucinating, but the smell of good food drew his attention back to the present. To a plate of biscuits with a warm golden and steaming soup at the nightstand, a glass of milk and water. Maker, he was starving. He scooted back up the bed slowly, careful of his fretful body and sipped the _warm_ milk with glee. Oh it had been nearly two weeks since he had the comforts of home, of a settled establishment. He chugged it down when the large wooden door swung open to a stout (and bearded) man. His hair had whitened, his beard had too, though he didn’t look much older than their guide Dwalin.

            “Ah I see you’re awake, Master Baggins,” Bilbo’s eyes owled and he quickly set his glass down, wiping his mouth of the milk he’d chugged.

            “Um, yes, how do you do,” his cheeks darkened and the elder man laughed.

            “I suspect you’re wondering why you’re in a soft bed, aye?” the man grinned and shut the door partially coming towards the writer.

            “A bit, and um, your name of course, you know mine,” He chewed his lip.

            “My apologies. My name is Balin,” D-Dwalin’s brother, so it was his brother. “I’m Dwalin’s older brother.”

            “B-Bilbo Baggins,” he extended a hand out and Balin took it with a smile.

            “Proper whilst in bed with a fever,” Bilbo’s eyes screwed shut for a moment, before he opened them. “Mister Durin informed me you had come under fever and passed out during the day. Lucky for you, my brother brought horses to pick you two up.” Balin glanced to the door. “I heard he was quite worried for you.” Bilbo’s cheeks lit, and Balin knew it was not from his fever. “I am surprised though, that you resisted for such a long time that medicine’s wrath.”

            “Oh,” Bilbo scratched at his cheek. “It was bad, wasn’t it? I thought it was funny.” Bilbo reached for a biscuit and the mug of water. “Did I catch a fever from reacting to it?”

            “Indeed,” Balin let his fists rest lightly upon his waist. “You knew it was not infection?”

            “I insisted I brought my own herbs, just for such things, but you can’t really tell the mountain guide I know more than you,” he chuckled and was pleased and very relieved with Balin joined.

            “Ah, yes, that would be stubbornness on my brother’s part,” He chuckled and stroked his beard. “Well. It will take a couple of days to clear the plant’s natural toxins out, but you’re leg is well-tended. You and your companion should be able to leave within two weeks time, perhaps less.” He expected this information would please the writer but he watched those neat eyebrows furrow and shoulders sag. “What’s the matter, lad?”

            “Two weeks?” Bilbo repeated quietly. “That’s too long.” The solemn words hung in the air, thick with regret and obvious displeasure. “That’s just more delays I’m causing.”

            “I do not think that Mister Durin is terribly concerned with—“

            “You don’t know Thorin, then,” Bilbo muttered, looking off with a pout.

            “From what I heard, you do not know him much, either,” Bilbo knew his face was painted with a guilty expression or something alike. He couldn’t admit he knew Thorin about as much as Balin, though it was clear the other guide knew _very well_ how much they knew one another. “I think you will find he is genuinely concerned.”

            “That’s doesn’t matter,” Bilbo argued, though knew it was childish. “I’ll… thank you for aiding us. I’ll… I’ll be most grateful if you allow me to stay until I could catch a ride to return back with Dwalin and… take the train home.”

            “You are welcome to stay as long as you need, Master Baggins,” Balin was turning and glanced back to the slumped and exasperated writer. “When Thorin wakes, should I let him know you are well enough for visitors?” Bilbo nodded quietly and the other guide not _help_ but feel pity for the writer. He had seemed so _eager_ to get out as soon as he could, and knowing there might be possible disappointment from his travelling companion…

            He felt for the lad, he truly did. He left the door partially open, and went to search for his brother who was making more food for the rest of them. Later that morning, Thorin rose and met them in the kitchen, though did not ask if the writer was awake yet. “Master Baggins is well enough to visit, Thorin.” Balin finally said, watching those gray blue eyes carefully. His eyes revealed much of what his expressions alone would not. In them, he could see the turmoil. The upset, the hope... And even how he seemed to be bracing himself for the news. There was obvious hopefulness as well as… a sort of upset, solemn even. “He is healing quickly. That leg of his is the only cause for him to remain for two weeks, he might be better before that, however.”

            “I see,” Thorin said shortly. His eyes wandered in thought, before he stood and headed to the writer’s room. Thorin crept to the door and took a breath, peering through it, seeing Bilbo sitting on the bed, very much _awake_ and not at all as flushed as he had been. He was writing, which meant he had roused from bed at some point since Balin had checked in upon the writer. “May I come in?” Thorin asked as he knocked upon the doorframe, Bilbo’s startled eyes widened before they softened.

            “You’re already barging in,” he teased and closed the journal, looking to Thorin hopefully. “Balin said I would be better within two weeks.” No, he didn’t know Thorin. But two weeks couldn’t be terrible, could it? He may even be able to make it down to a week, that would have to please Thorin, seeing Bilbo making attempts to restart their journey. “He also said I might heal faster, so I’ll do what I can.” Thorin remained silent, taking in the words carefully. “I’m excited to start again, despite that… cougar fiasco, so I’ll get back in shape so that we can—“

            “Not we, Master Baggins,” Bilbo blinked, holding _desperately_ onto his journal.

            “Pardon?”

            “You are not coming,” his mouth fell open in blatant shock. “I took a risk inviting you along, and I do not want that worry upon my shoulders.”

            “But, I don’t mind, I signed—“

            “I said no!” Thorin said more clearly, and just a fraction louder than before. The strength in his voice was enough for Bilbo to _feel_ reverberation of his words. They echoed within. “I’ve put you in more danger than was necessary. It was not _right_ to bring an inexperienced traveler along, no matter my desires.” His eyes had been lowered, but when he heard no retort, he partially thought that Bilbo had passed out again.

            Looking up proved him wrong though. Bilbo was gripping his journal tightly, fiddling with the leather cover, shoulders tense yet somehow sagging, his face… expression had to have been the worst expression Thorin had ever seen. It drooped in upset, brows curled in sadness, eyes searching for words…

            A writer at a loss of _words._ Thorin would have made a jibe, a tease, but seeing the writer look completely _thrown_ like this… he did not want to tear such an experience from someone, everyone should be gifted the chance to travel, to experience a new world. But he would not do it with another’s life at risk. He was about to open his mouth when Bilbo smiled weakly and, let out a dark chuckle.

            “I thought that too,” Bilbo nodded to himself as if Thorin were not present. His eyes flitted to his journal, squeezing it tightly. “I’ll… I’ve already asked Balin if I may stay until I can return. I’ll also send word to Gandalf that it’s… over and I’m coming back.” He set the journal to his desk and when it fell, his eyes turned to it, but he did not move to pick it back up. Thorin reached down for it, opening it to…

            The sunset or sunrise. It wasn’t in the colors they had seen, but… it was holy, almost, pure. Thorin’s eyes raised to see Bilbo’s lips still pursed, as if it would keep him from arguing about his return. The adventurer looked back to the sketch, he had probably done this from memory. He flipped a few pages back and saw his own notes and then, he saw Bilbo’s right next to him, weaving both their thoughts together. He felt his throat tighten, he swallowed to try and loosen it up but it just made him choke.

            “You can do what you wish with what’s there. You could just… send me missives too.” Thorin blinked. “When I return home. I…”

            There was a strangled noise in Bilbo’s throat, the writer looked away for it. “I have a good enough imagination to make the rest up for you.” This made Thorin angry, that Bilbo would just… but hadn’t he said that the writer couldn’t come along? Hadn’t _he_ been the one to send him away?

            “Listen here,” Thorin threw the journal back into Bilbo’s lap, making him jump. “I’m not going to allow you to _mope_ about this adventure.” The writer looked unthreatened and unfazed by his words. “N… not when I can’t go on it without…” he growled lowly to himself, resigned. “If you… really want… to come along then… I suspect I cannot break our… contract together either.” Bilbo was slowly straightening like a blossom under the sun. His eyes were growing wide, lighting with hope. “There was a reason I wanted to bring a writer out with me. Because _any of them_ can just _make up_ feelings or recreate the scenes I’m seeing.” Bilbo was nearly sitting on the edge of the bed with _anticipation!_ He could see the desperate and raw hope _glimmering_ in that open face. Bilbo had done only one thing and that was to try to impress Thorin. “There’s something about being there that makes it different.” His jaw clenched. “And… I couldn’t write this book knowing,… I _can’t_ write this book if… dammit, come along alright? I’ve changed my mind.” Thorin huffed, waving his hands in upset at being unable to express something _kind._ Something touching.

 _How hard is it to say I can’t write this without him?_ Their eyes met though, and to his fury, it was like Bilbo could see right through him. His gaze was not as piercing perhaps, as Thorin’s was intimidating, but it held a certain sharpness that Thorin was _appreciative_ of.

            “Are you sure? I can—“

            “Maker, do you want me to admit I shouldn’t have said that you had to go?” Bilbo chuckled then, shaking his head, taking a breath.

            “I just thought it might be fever, making me hallucinate,” he scratched his jaw cheekily. “But you will let me heal my own wounds next time, lest you wish to see another fever come on.” Thorin managed to laugh and Bilbo stretched happily then, he seemed to brighten ten times for merely being allowed to come along. Had he had been so upset and dour when he had originally been denied? There was no doubt in Thorin’s mind that Bilbo had heard of his and Dwalin’s conversation about leaving him out of the journey. However, seeing the writer light up with thrill once more made him smile. It would be good for Bilbo and maybe it would even be good for _Thorin._

            Time didn’t _crawl_ by as Thorin had thought it might, waiting for Bilbo’s ankle to heal. His fever was completely gone the following day, and any motion sickness he had had disappeared by the second. Bilbo was eager to strengthen his ankle as soon as possible, as well as the rest of his body for the long journey. Bilbo found himself in the company of Balin more often than not, listening to his stories as a lad in these hills, and of the folk tales that surrounded the two cities.

            Bilbo had so much to write that by the end of the first week, he had the first chapter prepared, ready to send off, and he offered it up to Thorin for a final inspection. “I was thinking, of adding something like ‘story subject to change’ or parts are, that this, at least until the final project is finished..” Thorin nodded as they sat before the fire in large chairs, Bilbo was curled up into his, happily snuggled in a large blanket. They were both enjoying warm cider and slices of salted pork and bread as they reviewed the first chapter. After they had finished, they sat in silence and it was _Thorin_ who shifted first, glancing to Bilbo who was content beside him.

            “Did you want to know where we’re heading to next?” Hazel eyes leapt from his journal to Thorin, blinking.

            “Of course,” Bilbo tucked the quill into his journal, looking to the adventurer. Thorin drew out of his pocket a small map that was about as big as the small table before them. It had many red circles and little question marks around areas to visit, and Bilbo let his eyes absorb _all_ of what he saw.

            “First we’re stopping at the River Trades,” Bilbo’s eyes snapped to Thorin’s finger. “We’re uh, meeting my nephews there. I had Dwalin send word we would be late, they will be there when we arrive, however.” Bilbo nodded, smiled. “Next we’re going through this forest. It’s supposed to be mostly untouched by people, so there should be plenty of wildlife.”

            “Uh, and wildlife—“

            “There are no cougars, I assure you,” Thorin chuckled and Bilbo sighed happily.

            “Thank the _Maker,”_ He breathed. “So a lot of animals, what kinds? Deer…? Uh…”

            “Foxes, wolves, beers even,” Bilbo gulped.

            “Go right for the predators,” the writer said, as he chuckled worriedly.

            “The wolves would not attack, they’re too smart, and beers mostly keep to themselves,” Thorin shrugged. “But there will be deer, foxes, I’m hoping to catch some wolves hunting, or at least, running about.” Bilbo let Thorin go on about their next destination which was a large mountainside that had been made into a city. A large set of caves had been carved out, and eventually levels were put upon them. He wanted to admire the architecture and travel _through_ the mountain in their expansive network of tunnels. Most of it was city, so there would be nothing to worry there, and Bilbo said that was a relief. “Yes, well, we will see how far we can get with my nephews, noisy things.”

            “You’re still bringing them along, though,” Thorin nodded to this. “You must _want_ them to come along, despite being hard on them.”

            “I do, it will be a great experience,” Bilbo watched Thorin’s face change, it wasn’t controlled as it usually was, it was… soft. There was a little glisten in his eyes at memories of his nephews. “They’ve faced a family that does not like change much, this will hopefully give them a new perspective.”

            “You’re sweet on them,” Thorin sighed.

            “They know that too,” he chuckled in agreement and Bilbo sighed.

            “Well, I will be sure to rule with an iron fist then,” laughter again lit the room. “You’ve never had kids though? Of your own, I mean, you’re so fond of your nephews.” Thorin chuckled half-heartedly.

            “No I haven’t any of my own,” He murmured. “I haven’t met the right person to bear one with me, let alone raise them.” Bilbo wanted to question why he hadn’t just said girl, for only a woman would have the ability to do so, bear a child for Thorin. His eyes narrowed for a moment, in thought, but Thorin clarified. “There isn’t a person that’s… caught my eye in a long while, not long enough, at least, to bear a little one.” Bilbo awed at that. “So, what of you? No lass at home, no children to return too?”

            “No, none for me, demons they are,” Thorin chuckled as Bilbo explained. “I seem to have a hard enough time being a socialite and obtaining normal relationships. _Fostering_ a romantic relation…” Thorin blinked and Bilbo’s cheeks lightened. “Well… I doubt I have the abilities to woo anyone at this point, with the way things have gone. No, it would be nice maybe one day, to raise a little one.” He glanced to Thorin. “And know this, I would never want to babysit _yours_ should you have one. Rascal he’d or she’d be.” Thorin laughed and leaned back in his chair, long forgetting the map spread to the table.

            “Oh, and why would you decline me so?”

            “Your little one would want to romp around with cougars _and_ bears alike, I could not handle another venture!” They sipped their cider, and ate the pork with gladness, with laughter. Bilbo never imagined to have _such_ a long or _exhilarating_ conversation with Thorin. He’d always seemed so distant in Bilbo’s eyes.

            “So you would not have a little writer roaming your house because you’re bad at romancing?” Thorin tsked Bilbo. “What is a writer without his words? I would have imagined _you_ would have an easier time attracting lasses to you.”

            Bilbo looked away, chewing his lip and sighing. “Harder than you imagine,” Bilbo huffed under his breath and Thorin questioned why. “You. All _you_ would have to do is wander around and a gaggle would hoard for your attention.” Bilbo waved. “I am not physically… _defined.”_ He blushed, Thorin raised a brow. “I have to be suave, let my words do the explaining.” He let out a drawn out sigh escape him, and… reclined a bit _sadly_ into his chair. “You would be surprised at how few people are interested in a gentleman.” Thorin had wanted to laugh, but catching the frown upon his lips, the downcast eyes, he ceased the laughter before it arose. Bilbo was _not_ a romantic, well, at least, he was not _lucky_ with romance. Obviously, it pained the writer.

            “So then,” Thorin,questioned his… _friend._ “As a proper gentleman, whom would you reach out too, if you say _none_ are attracted to such a personality?” Bilbo’s cheeks darkened instantly and he fumbled with his drink.

            “I do believe that is none of your business, Thorin,” he was smirking though, when he answered, happy. Thorin had pleased him in some respect.

            “It _could_ be my business,” Thorin argued teasingly, to which Bilbo glared playfully in return.

            “It really could not,” But there was obvious curiosity that had been piqued in them both. _Interests_ in the people they shared more than _just_ the bed with. Bilbo turned his face to the fire, drinking the rest of his cider. “If you must know, he must be an avid reader and be able to sweep _me_ , the writer, off my feet with words.” He cocked a single brow. “And my expectations are high, so, I usually end up being the only… single man at the party.” He glanced off, thoroughly embarrassed.

            “So if I wanted it to be my business,” Thorin questioned softly after a period of silence between them. “I’d have to be a smooth talker?” his lips were upturned and Bilbo’s cheeks reddened. “I mean, one’s vocabulary should be at _least_ that of the writer. And they would have to be a proper person in their own right.”

            “Well,” Bilbo could not help the earlier sentence, that _Thorin_ had muttered that _he’d_ have to be a smooth talker. He had never _dreamed_ that Thorin would be _remotely_ interested in… well. He wasn’t interested _in him_ per se, but… his throat tightened anyway as he gulped. “Yes, they would have be elegant with their words, but there is a line to be crossed. There is a sense of familiarity and trust, and _that_ can only be achieved with honesty.” Thorin’s brow quirked.

            “You act as though you ask for a lot, Master Baggins,” Thorin moved to draw his map up into the small folded pocket he had untucked it from. “But it is not so much if you opened up the same the amount.” He’d ushered himself to bed swiftly, leaving Bilbo at the chair with a smile and a quiet _good night._ Thorin would not bother the writer further with incessant questions of his… _personal_ desires. It had been Balin’s idea to get to know the writer while they had time to relax… and this time was proving to be…

            Interesting.

            Time spent in the comforts of a wood cabin and writing without the threat of fever or infection or even a _wild animal_ was pleasant. Though, neither Thorin or Bilbo would be able to say _which_ of them had the better time spent enjoying the mellow fields. Bilbo often accompanied Balin into the market, having such a love _still_ for city life, no matter how quaint. Balin and Bilbo often talked about books they had read as children and as adult, the elder man quite curious to see how their story would progress.

            Balin handed off one of his most precious books, a small children’s story of a dwarven race that was born by one of the gods; a god of craft, stoutness, maybe even a bit of stubbornness.

            “I’d like you to take it with you,” Balin smiled, as they set their goods upon the kitchen counters, Bilbo found himself unable to stop fretting over the small book.

            “I could not take this, Balin,” He tried to hand it back. “It’s too dear.”

            “If anything, you could draw comparison from this book for Thorin’s book,” Bilbo stared down at it. “Or just compare Thorin to it.” They laughed together, Bilbo helped to cook dinner that night. He was fidgety, this new book, despite its small size, was full of information. A race of _god-like_ people that ruled from above. They had their own disputes, but this was but _one_ in a series of many. This followed a single god, a god of craft, as Balin had explained, that had brought forth the first of a new race, carved from a marvelous sort of stone.

            Bilbo fell in love with the story so _much_ that he brought it to Thorin’s attention, why couldn’t the people of his main character be modeled after dwarves?

            “Do I look short in stature?” Thorin had teased, rummaging through his things and straightening. “I assume you have some grand reasoning behind it?”

            “Come on, it’s _common_ mythology that dwarves as a race desire gold, gems, things of value,” Bilbo waved. “It would make sense if the dragons in the mountains turned to a rare stone they mined… oh!” Thorin jumped a bit at the gasp Bilbo exhaled. The writer holed himself up in his room and no matter how he desired to know what the young writer was penning, he would not show them.

            “Is he at it again?” Balin came later that evening, handing off a mug of ale to Thorin at the fire, noticing the chair beside him empty of the writer.

            “He refuses to let me see, nor let me come in,” Thorin sighed. “He says I distract him.”

            “I cannot imagine why,” Thorin swallowed a gulp, blinking up to Balin. If Balin hadn’t gotten to know Thorin in these short few weeks, he’d have said that the adventurer almost looked _innocent_ peering up to him with curiosity all alight upon his face. “Do not give me that clueless look, all you need to do is look a little harder.”

            “I see a writer obsessed with writing,” Thorin was… confounded. He had felt himself become _more_ and more troubled by Balin’s cryptic words. They were about as bad as Gandalf’s at _this_ point.

            “Then, in time, perhaps you’ll see the _man_ that’s _thrilled_ with adventuring, too,” Balin took his leave. That night Thorin stayed awake, pouring over maps and places.

            His eyes always flitted to Bilbo’s room though, the shut door, the privacy the writer was keeping from him _bothersome_. Bilbo would discover that morning that the adventurer had fallen asleep in the chair. He wanted to laugh, to tease, but instead, he tucked Thorin in a blanket and fluffed the pillow at his head before Dwalin and Balin _insisted_ they take him out to hunt.

            Just to get a hang of it, should the adventurer order Bilbo too.

            If he had been bad at hiking, he was worse at hunting. He was unfocused, the bow in his arms was hard to draw back, and aiming was about as awful as it had been when he was a lad playing ball with his cousins. Dwalin steadied his arms, and when he pierced a rabbit, Bilbo nearly fainted at seeing the blood spilling from it’s neck.

            “Oh… I um…” Balin rested his hands upon his shoulders to steady his swaying. “That’s… mm, is it… is it _supposed_ to do that?” His voice broke a bit, making the two guides laugh.

            “Aye, this is a clean shot, Master Baggins,” Balin complimented.

            “Thorin’ll make a hunter outta ye in no time,” Bilbo raised his hand.

            “Oh I think I’ll just stand by and watch,” he cleared his throat weakly. When Dwalin passed the still _warm_ rabbit to him to carry, he felt himself hurl; felt his gut wrench to release whatever lingered within. He looked away and that seemed to calm him for a moment, but the warmth. “I… am not an adventurer.”

            “You’re a bit wee,” Dwalin commented. “But if anyone can make you one, I have no doubts it’s Thorin.”

            “Good, oh very good, I definitely wanted to become used to… to… ehh, hold this,” Bilbo _shoved_ the rabbit into one of their chests, striding forward on wobbling legs, trying to keep the reflex of regurgitation down. “Maker, it’s _warm.”_

            When they returned, Balin and Dwalin enjoyed their teasing the writer for being sensitive to blood. “It was _warm!_ I thought it’d draw breath still!” This had the others laughing but Bilbo was _sighing_ in exasperation. Despite the trip, Bilbo was extremely grateful to the two guides, who granted him his own bow and dagger, _just_ in case.

            “If you need a back to carry those,” Thorin eyed them. “You will not find mine available.”

            “T-Thorin!” Bilbo gaped. “I can’t even! The bow! Maker, do I look like I’ve spent my childhood lifting boulders like you?” The writer peeped when Thorin turned with a raised brow, a smirk under his mustache and beard.

            “I lift boulders now?” He joked.

            “I can hardly carry my pack, do I look built for strength?” He clarified.

            “It will do you good to carry them,” he tried to encourage. “What if I cannot come to your rescue against another cougar?”

            “Please no,” but their last night with Balin and Dwalin was spent in gladness. In mead and ales and a fine roast dinner. Bilbo was not sure how he made it to the bed, though he was _positive_ it had to do with the reason why Thorin was half laying upon the bed, half dangling over in a chair.

            Dwalin was outright on the floor and Balin was not to be seen that morning. At least, not until they left. The afternoon light was blinding for an hour or so, but water and the cool shade of firs was a relief.

            They were but a three-day trip to the large river that was the home to a variety of mills. A few forges were located along the riverbank, according to Thorin. Bilbo was happy that the adventurer tried to make conversation as Dwalin had during their trek up the mountain, but it still needed work. It was stiff, and at times, a bit terrifying, but he’d always glance over and apologize. Or mutter what was close to an apology.

            Sleeping on the ground had not become easier for Bilbo either, after having _just_ grown accustomed to the stones of the mountain, he had had a plush bed to recuperate. And _now_ it was sticks and hard dirt again.

            He grew more excited to come to the river and its mills. It was a large trading point, with only a single inn, and houses for the mill-workers. They had assumed this was where they would send off their first Chapter, but they had finished it earlier in their time spent at Balin’s home. The old guide offered to be a runner for their story, passing letters through if any should come his way. Balin had also asked that he be able to keep a few, for a collectors reasons; never know if he could make something off of them!

            Upon the third day Bilbo and Thorin were rounding the top of a green hill to see this gorgeous white and blue river, rushing with power and ferocity. Many mills lined the bank, spinning huge wooden turbines, collecting water and warming furnaces, or else powering longsaws for tree cutting. Bilbo hooked his fingers into the straps of his pack with awe, watching the scene as if it were from a book; as if he had _stepped_ into another world. Thorin was already heading down and Bilbo hurried after, looking to Thorin as he told him they were meeting his nephews at the Stone Forge mill, a ways up the river, closest to the waterfall.

            Bilbo did not know what to expect, meeting Thorin’s kin. Were they young? Rambunctious? Thorin seemed to imply they were rowdy and quite the handful, but Thorin had _hardly_ been playful like that. When Thorin perked at seeing to two people close together, and his steps had quickened, Bilbo could only _assume_ it was his nephews…

            Though…

            Though he _never dared_ to think he’d _meet_ the line of _Durin_ in such… compromising positions.

            Nor that he’d hear two _males_ making such… _moans._ Bilbo stopped _several_ feet away, eyes blown wide by the smack of lips, the sight of curious hands roaming over—

            “Of all the days to be _philandering_ , in public!” Oh so those—no, they couldn’t be Thorin’s nephews, people he knew, yes, distant and young cousins, several times removed perhaps! Yes, but not…   “Fergus! Keelin! Could you part your mouths for a moment—“

            “Uncle!” Their cries were in unison. They were apart in moments and _bounding_ towards their Uncle.

            Uncle _Thorin._

            So that…

            They were…

_Oh… Maker, have mercy. Please cease this joke._

            “Is that Mister Baggins?”


	7. Who Am I, to Kid or Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations, big, small, important and unimportant. Bilbo finds himself between humoring and remaining firm. Ah, it is so hard to choose amongst youths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU WANT CHAPTER SEVEN?!
> 
> YEAH?!
> 
> Okay, here you go. So, excuse if Fili/Kili seem a bit under their age. I've come to realize its ridiculously easy to write children and write young adults (and now, 18 doesn't make you an adult in my eyes, I consider 19 to 22-3ish to be 'young adult' before that, that young adolescent, or puberty XD) anyway. I'm not used to writing 17-19 year old's. I didn't particularly remember LIKING the teen years myself, drama, emotion, crazy happened and you can't explain any of it. So accept my apologies if at times, those two seem to be younger than their age.
> 
> Roughly, Kili is 18, Fili is 20. I digress, nom it up, chapter seven, my lovelies, if you REALLY like the way their relationships (Thilbo or FilixKili, perhaps i'll write a smexy explicit goody, separate, but in this world ifffffffffffff you really want. I mean I have it, just unposted XD) ENJOY.

            **Chapter 7: Who Am I, to Kid or Lie**

            There just _comes_ a time in your life where you find yourself facing lifestyles that differ from yours. Sometimes, those lifestyles are so _diverse_ , it’s hard to fathom how they could _ever_ bring about a healthy or mentally stable life. There is always judgement that comes from seeing such differences, and everyone is given a choice, though three options; one is to accept that you and the others are different, and that differences are wonderful and normal, despite them. Two, you can reject their ideas, and state yours are better or more correct. Whatever dogmatic view you choose, crushing their views becomes important to you. One of the views is the choice. The last is to feel nothing, to neither accept nor deny such differences exist, and be ignorant of the very world.

            Well, Bilbo did not believe he was ignorant. His lack of travelling had just not gifted him a broader view of people. He was an accepting sort, no matter the stretch of difference.

            So honestly, Bilbo narrowed it down to two options, to accept or deny.

            He wasn’t sure he could _deny_ such jovial faces as the two boys peered over Thorin’s shoulder.

            Nor did he think accepting them would be as easy as stating it aloud. They had been glued to one another in a most _despicable_ fashion after all, snogging in public as though they were hidden from view and given their privacy. There was more _wrong_ with the picture than _just_ the two brothers kissing…

            But he could not find it in himself to draw away in disgust or dislike when they approached. In fact, he stuck his hand out to shake the eldest, Fergus.

            “You’re Mister Baggins?” He was calm, his smile _regal_ and he had much of his uncle’s looks; the squarish face, a strong jaw, big blue eyes, just the trimmings of a beard and mustache coming along. His blonde hair was short, neck length, but very neat, much like the way his Uncle carried his own. “It’s a pleasure. Fili. Er… Uncle would have me introduce myself as Fergus Durin.”

            “Fili is a nickname I take it,” Bilbo’s hand drew away to end a shake Fili seemed keen on continuing.

            “A childhood one, yes but, it sort of stuck,” Bilbo’s eyes flitted then to the… _jumpy_ youth beside him.

            “I’m Kili,” and though Bilbo had his hand ready to extend, the boy let out a great sigh and brought Bilbo into an embrace. “I’m also called Keelin.” He gave one hearty squeeze before drawing off- Kili was dark-haired like his uncle, a bit taller too, but he was more round in face, perhaps because of his age. He had chestnut eyes that were seamed with flecks of yellows and golds, the scruff of a beard lingered upon his cheeks.

            No, Bilbo thought, _they are no different than what I had heard from Thorin_ _before_ , despite the… rather indecent scene he had stumbled upon with Thorin- what with their entangled limbs, unruly hair, and ravishing mouths. “We’re really excited to finally meet you Mister Boggins!”

            “B-Baggins,” Bilbo corrected, with a flush. Kili then came closer, looking him up and down, squeezing his arm.

            “A writer,” he examined. “Ever travel? Slay a beast—“

            “Oh um—“

            “That’s enough,” Thorin’s booming voice brought their attention _back_ to the leader of their little group. “I think you’ve hassled and fondled the writer enough, haven’t you?” Thorin fixed his youngest nephew with a mild glare, but the youth seemed rather unaffected, only seemed to release his grip upon Bilbo’s arm to not _risk_ a beating. “I apologize for their rambunctious…er… activities.”

            “No no, it was just… ah, unexpected,” Thorin let his gaze wander over Bilbo’s face, perhaps he too was questioning whether to accept his nephews decisions or deny them. Or maybe he was concerned they would face a prejudice he did not think they would need to encounter. Either way, they headed within the mill to greet the smithy who recognized Thorin and of course, the nephews who had been staying with him. They rented another room with the smith for Thorin and Bilbo and set out to wander the river mills, in search of inspiration.

            It did not come to Thorin quickly, but Bilbo was soon penning away, what if this was a city, what if that great war at the mountains had the peoples eventually travelling here, and the main character was wrought with not only having to flee his home, but witness more death? Thorin was rather shocked Bilbo had absorbed _all_ of that, simply by looking at mills by a river. A town? This could be a wealthy town, indeed, had it been one. They would travel and trade with the people at a lake, Bilbo perked. “Where is there a lake?”

            “One lays deep within the forest, over a great waterfall, just east of us,” Thorin had wanted to point to a map, but instead he pointed in _about_ the direction of their destination; low hillsides filled with a lush forest of maples, pines and other trees Bilbo was unable to name.

            “How big?”

            “Hmm?” Thorin had thought that had been the end of conversation, Bilbo’s curious look into the forest.

            “The waterfall?”

            “It’s said to be one the largest in the world,” he smiled. “Nearly a half mile long.” Bilbo’s eyes widened a fraction and he looked off toward the forest.

            “It doesn’t look that steep!” He exclaimed.

            “That’s because the lake is higher, the waterfall ends, below sea level,” Fili had explained as he came alongside Bilbo. The writer looked to him.

            “I should explain, Fili is very much acquainted with the terrain and geography of the places we will be going to,” Thorin admitted, and asked why he hadn’t said a thing before. “Didn’t come up. I…” honestly, he had forgotten. Sure it was important, to understand the terrain, but it was not something Thorin thought necessary to know. He had only brought it up assuming it would help Bilbo to relax knowing another was familiar with the roads they’d take and…

            Who was far more sociable than he could ever be.

            “You know, the real reason we’re heading to a waterfall right?” Kili drew close as well, leaning against his brother. “It’s so we can climb down beside the waterfall and sip the water like warriors of old!”

            “And Kili is obsessed with old folk tales and mythology,” Thorin rolled his eyes, though there was no displeasure in his voice, no irritated huff, just… well. There was a little soft side Bilbo had not really gotten to _see_ before when Thorin was with his nephews. He was doting, if strict.

            “It’s important!” Kili answered though, provoked into defending his interest, though Thorin and Bilbo knew it was merely out of his age. “Warriors that wanted to prove their strength or their prowess as a man, were said to climb the waterfall’s edges and take a sip from the top of the falls. And then climb back down. Some would fall though, after drinking the water.”

            “Oh, dear,” Bilbo blinked gasping. “That’s awful.”

            “They were men, so they were honored,” Kili added.

            “I think that’s worse,” and they all agreed, but continued down the river until the mills were far behind them, and they stood on a plateau that overlooked the small city and countryside Thorin and Bilbo had traversed. “I hope that first chapter does well.” Bilbo worried his lip.

            “Afraid to lose your reputation?” Thorin questioned and Bilbo huffed.

            “I make enough to live comfortably _without_ being a writer,” He waved. “I’ll have you know. I just… I just want people to see it the way I did.” He glanced to Thorin who lowered his eyes to meet his. “I just hope they feel the way I did, and that it inspires them to get number two.” Thorin hummed, chuckling after. “It’s unbecoming of a renowned traveler to laugh.”

            “Oh I shall cease then,” he had teased in return.

            “Why were you laughing, anyway?”

            “That you’ve become so devoted to a story so quickly,” it seemed to Bilbo that the adventurer was mocking him, that he _still_ did not believe in his dedication. Bilbo readied a retort but Thorin was smiling. “It pleases me to know you sit with anticipation as well.” A squeeze of his shoulder had Bilbo reddening-

            A blush that did not go unnoticed by Thorin’s _nephews_ either.

            It was Kili that approached him first, Bilbo had said he’d wanted to look around the small town. Thorin’s disinterest ruffled him a bit but Kili offered to keep him company and then… so did Fili. Thorin’s brows creased, worried for their intentions, but before they could leave, Bilbo handed off his journal to Thorin.

            “Make sure they don’t snatch it up,” Thorin smiled, agreed he would not. “Maker knows I write things in there that may not be right for them to see.” The adventurer let his brows rise high upon his forehead.

            “And what, pray tell, would you have written that youths may not look upon, but you’d eagerly share with an older man?”

            “Well there’s sex—“ Oh. “I mean!” He waved quickly. “I was just… there was a little r… romantic plot I wanted to t… twine into… the story. I didn’t write anything explicit, so—“

            “But you want me to safeguard it from my nephews?” Those cheeks, red under scrutiny had Thorin grinning. “Well if you have passed it off to me, you do not mind I give it a once over?” Those eyes owled now, the blush still glowing upon his cheeks.

            “I—“

            “I would rather them not know of this,” He waved the journal. “Maker forbid, they find some way to tease their Uncle and now, newfound companion.” Bilbo gulped. “A word of caution, they’re playful. In _all_ senses of the word…” there was concern in those steely blue eyes. “Be warned, that’s all.”

            “Thorin, I may not be able to handle the Cliffside alone, but I can _definitely_ manage a few young _boys_ being… well, boys,” He smirked _proud_ to say he could resist whatever wiles they toss to him.

            “Indeed?”

            “I hear doubt on your voice, but you’ll see, I’ll be able to handle them, no issues,” He promised with another smile.

            “Then, all I ask is that if they prove _trying,_ you can come to me and I will set them straight,” he wasn’t expecting Thorin to bend over to assist with anything related to Bilbo, but, even something as small as _managing_ his own kin, rowdy as they were… a was a nice change.

            “Maybe _I’ll_ be the one you call when you need help next time,” Thorin laughed and parted to flip through the journal he had been given, _praying_ along the way his nephews did not scare off the writer with any and all of their charms. He hoped it did not _repel_ the writer either.

            If Bilbo had known Thorin was praying so hard for concern, he would have told him to stop and that he had no intentions of quitting over something he would disagree with. He had not even decided if he _should_ disagree with it yet. The nephews insisted they head to the tiny market within the center of the ‘town’ to look around at the wares and offers of the mill-owners.

            This bored the two quite quickly, insisting instead to head to the pub they had frequented during their stay. He agreed only to appease them, for they seemed far less interested in what was going on around them than Bilbo himself. They were cautious at first, asking easy questions like what did Bilbo do, where did he live, what sort of things he enjoyed, hobbies…

 _Then_ they moved on to asking what sort of people he was interested in. “Are these all questions you asks your Uncle’s business partners?”

            “You’re just Uncle’s business associate?” Fili asked with disbelief, Kili just outright scoffed. “That’s… that can’t be true! We’ve never seen him laugh or smile so much with business friends before.”

            “Well, he’s writing a book, I’m sure he’s excited for that,” Bilbo continued, _ignoring_ the previous invasive questions. “He’s doing something he likes, hardly reason for him to _not_ enjoy my company. I’m writing his book, he better enjoy it damn well!” They had laughed together, but that only seemed to _end_ that line of conversation and open up-

            “So, is Uncle your type then?” Kili pestered which had Bilbo choking on his ale. “I mean, we won’t tell.”

            “My you’re nosy,” He wiped his mouth. “For the record, he’s not. And it would be none of your business if he was... Which he isn’t.” They deflated. “But if you two are set on being nosy, am I allowed to ask what is between you two?” Their eyes met over the counter, and both bowed their heads a bit.

            Their chastise from Thorin earlier, although brief, was well-heard. Thorin had not warned the writer of their relationship and they had thrown it upon him with force. Bilbo waited patiently, which when Fili finally raised his eyes saw such patience, such… _softness._

            “W… We uh…”

            “Obviously don’t talk about it much,” Kili interjected. “Don’t tell Uncle we’re talking about it?” He almost looked desperate. “And! And we didn’t mean to just—“

            “Kili—“

            “What if we scared Mister Boggins away from writing Uncle’s story?” His hand reached for Bilbo’s arm, fisted against it.

            “Calm down, Kili,” Fili tried reaching over but the younger of the two drew away like he’d been shocked.

            “If you’re concerned, I’ll tell you what I told Thorin,” two sets of big shining eyes spun to him. “I’m not in a position to leave, no matter your preferences.” They blinked, and were waiting for more. A clearer statement that Bilbo was not adverse. “I’m not in a position to judge, what you do is your business.”

            “But we, we don’t make you uncomfortable?” Fili found his voice, quiet, unsure.

            “Not yet,” Bilbo murmured and they sagged their shoulders so quickly, Bilbo laughed at the comical downturn. He rested a hand each on their backs. “I’m not sure what I think, but it is not disrespect, nor dislike or disgust. I feel quite… mmm queer, I suppose.” Scared eyes began to shimmer, began to look up with hope. “So long as you stay on your side of the campfire at night, I will remain.”

            “What if I want to come to the _other_ side of the campfire?” Ah, so that was the playfulness Thorin was referencing, for Kili’s brows waggled in such a flirtatious way Bilbo had to roll his eyes. He’d been courted himself, by young people, perhaps not too much older than either of them. They had been rambunctious and flirty, all play and little seriousness, so it was easy to reel them in and keep them in check.

            “Then you will find yourself becoming acquainted with my writing hand,” he raised it, flat as if prepared to slap either of them at any moment.

            “Kili’s into that,” Bilbo sighed and rubbed his face at Fili’s remarking tease.

            “Yes, well I doubt a book feels as nice as a hand,” Kili gulped.

            “My side of the campfire, got it,” He giggled, though Bilbo knew he’d come to see them trying to tease their way into Bilbo’s heart somehow, whether seriously or playfully. He wondered if Thorin and his family kept them hidden away for this reason, from judgment, they weren’t at all as touchy-feely as Thorin had made them out to be, but again he was sitting between them.

            And a few drinks later, found the rules changing. They touched hands, faces, sides, and Bilbo eventually became a part of the touching, though they were hardly unwanted.

            He would slap their hands when he would wiggle away and they’d follow after with a smirk. “You two are touchy.” Though that made their hands tremble and he let their worries set in for a moment longer. “I understand why Thorin would be concerned for my well being, considering that mishap in the mountains.”

            “You hurt your leg,” Fili murmured, glancing down, a red tint to his cheeks, and Kili tried to do that though he swayed in his bar stool making Bilbo reach out to keep him upright.

            “Yeah,” He shrugged lightly. “I think he thinks I couldn’t take care of myself.” Though as he said this, both Kili and Fili leaned in, eyes glossing over with… well Bilbo was not entirely sure. “Now, if you two must look so, so dreamy, I’ll have you know I’m a gentleman, I do not fall for such whimsy or flaunts such as yours. You’ll just have to try harder.” They were…

            Their eyes were blown wide, mouths parting in wonder and probably shock too. “We’ve had quite enough to drink, let’s head back in before your Uncle thinks you’ve done something wicked.” They paid for their drinks and just stepped out of the pub when they bumped into Thorin, his hands were balled, and there was impatience lining his brow and concern. “Ah, Thorin. We were just coming back.” Thorin nodded, but overlooked the writer meticulously and then his nephews.

            “You’re drunk,” he said to the boys and Bilbo glanced to them and chuckled.

            “They weren’t an issue,” Bilbo returned though and Thorin’s look of disbelief just made Bilbo smile confidently. “Like I said, I could handle them.” He faced them- “Come along before you scare your Uncle further.” Thorin was _impressed_ and shocked as they _followed_ the writer without so much as a fuss. Bilbo knew the face Thorin was wearing was similar to the one the boys had worn earlier. He came to walk alongside Bilbo.

            “I’ll admit I’m…” he turned and saw his nephews fussing with one another in good fun. “Um, speechless I suppose.” Thorin had turned to the writer who, despite the pink drunk flush over his face, was not stumbling like his nephews. “I surely expected to find… I wasn’t sure what I’d find to be honest.”

            “I have had _many_ a young thing flirt,” Bilbo waved his hand as if warding off another young person in approach. “I’ve had plenty of chances to… reject offers.” His lips pursed and the congenial face darkened for a sliver of a moment, before it vanished. “Besides, they’re far more interested in how far they can get without getting into trouble.”

            “There has not been a truer statement in an age,” Thorin agreed though with lightness.

            “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, my mother used to say,” Bilbo giggled.

            “Odd, you hardly seem the type to ask forgiveness,” He glanced down, smirking. “I imagined you to be more a permission-asking type.”

            “Then you have a lot to learn,” maybe it was the ale that had loosened the writer’s tongue, or the friendly companionship of his nephews that made Bilbo so _wily_ with Thorin. The adventurer was not at all upset or angered, but mildly taken aback and _happy_. Bilbo seemed to open up with conversation, _just_ as Balin had said, and Thorin’s memories drifted back to their recent time spent in the cabin, letting Bilbo’s leg heal. He’d been coy, but sassy, quite like this slightly tipsy Bilbo was right now.

            “You’ll have to be easy on me then,” Bilbo’s eyes lit mischievously, looking up to Thorin.

            “Oh?”

            “I’m not the greatest conversationalist,” murmured Thorin.

            “I’ve taken many notes of that,” Bilbo let his hands tuck behind his back, smirking. “But you’ve done a fairly good job of starting them, none the less.”

            Fili and Kili were indeed, far more drunk than the writer, but they were plenty coherent. That was a mistaken fact with being under the influence, that you lost all sense and deftness and ability to be coherent and rationalize. Granted, sometimes one just did not rationalize safe or smart, rationalizing conversation, comprehending one?

            That was different. And they were far more aware than the writer or adventurer believed them to be. The inane teasing and flirts between their Uncle and Bilbo were all but driving them up walls. It should be clear as day that they _fancied_ one another, at least _accepted_ it! They slowed their pace together, linking arms.

            “Whatever Bilbo said, he’s lying,” Kili whispered against Fili’s ear, pecking it distractedly.

            “I agree, Uncle may not be his _type_ but he’s definitely interest—maker, what are you doing to my ear?!” He whined back which garnered Thorin and Bilbo’s attention then. The two brothers cleared their throats when Thorin sent them a look and Bilbo looked oddly satisfied.

            “Do you two never part?” Bilbo asked, arms folded over his chest to stay warm.

            “Rarely,” Thorin answered. “They aren’t the same separate.” He sighed, turning though. Bilbo chuckled and winked- he knew what it felt like to be young, or perhaps it wasn’t that Thorin did not.

            But that Bilbo was just far more accepting of young love, frolicking merrily without a care in the world.

            “Well, then that’s true love,” there were three sets of Durin eyes upon him and Bilbo stopped several feet away, blinking at his frozen companions. “What?”

            “Uncle, is he _always_ going to write for you?” Kili finally peeped up, moving forward, tapping his Uncle’s arm with eagerness. “He likes us.”

            “No he is just,” Bilbo rose a brow, curious as to what Thorin would say. “He is just far more kind than most in this world.” Drunk, the nephews said it was because Bilbo was fond of them, and who wouldn’t be, as they tugged Bilbo between them, linking arms as they wandered back to their beds. However, Bilbo let his eyes wander back to Thorin several times, before finally breaking the furtive glances with a thankful smile for the… compliment Thorin had given, which obviously had been hard to conceive for a man lacking most basic social skills.

            Bilbo tucked the boys into bed, though he was sure when he would go to rouse them or if Thorin would, that they’d be tucked into one bed instead. They cooed goodnights to Bilbo and he replied with the same, before bumping into Thorin. “Might we talk? Without curious ears afoot?” Bilbo snickered but followed Thorin into their shared room, claiming the bed he’d set his pack to earlier.

            “What is it?”

            “I just wanted to clarify that my nephews—“

            “I told them they had nothing to fear from me,” Thorin blinked. “I’m not going to quit because there are differences around me that contradict my own.” He chuckled and began to rummage for his night shirt in his bag. “Whatever their reasons, whatever their desires, it isn’t my business, and if it was, well,..”

            “Well… what?”

            “It is still their choice,” He shrugged, his mind beginning to feel the fuzziness of alcohol, to feel the lag of his body desiring sleep. “If you’re worried whether or not their entangling will scare me away, I’m quite _used_ to the sight of two men having a tumble…”

            And the great silence became _heavy_ and thick. Like it was suffocating, and Bilbo had realized several moments to late, again, he had partially admitted an inclination towards men—“Um.”

            “Then I will return the same courtesy you are gifting me, and them,” Thorin smiled, but there was a mixture of disappointment and something unfamiliar to Thorin that washed over the writer’s face. “I admit, I’m, er, acquainted with both, sorts of, tumbles, but…” That strange look disappeared from Bilbo’s face and his eyes lit up, mostly from shock. “All the same. It gladdens me they do not face prejudice with you.”

            “Hardly prejudice,” Bilbo tutted, might as well just come out _and say it_ he’d already admitted he fancied the… same gender. Well, mostly. Insinuated that his fascinations lay with the—“Besides, I told them they stay on their side of the campfire and not sneak into my tent at night, that I would not hold anything against them.” Thorin smirked.

            “Indeed?”

            “I threatened that should that happen, they would find themselves _between_ the wrong pages of a book,” he waved one of his journals. “You’d be surprised how painful a stack of paper is against the backside.”

            “I am more surprised by the fact you speak from experience,” Bilbo felt his cheeks light though it could not have been much darker than from his drinking, he definitely felt hotter.

            “You will find yourself acquainted with many a thing, rolling on the floor grasping about for better purchase, Thorin,” he looked up, though he wasn’t sure why, to Thorin. He found absolute _amusement_ and interest- no interest was not it, it seemed like a lust, a desire had come over Thorin. His eyes rolled over Bilbo’s face but once, never lingering, that smirk satisfied with his answer. “Er, anyway. I believe my silver-tongue loses its sharpness, and becomes far to—I’m going to stop with these references.” He waved and Thorin laughed.

            “A loose tongue does not have a bad connotation, unless you’re spreading rumors,” Bilbo eyed him hard. “But, I’ll relent for your sake.”

            “My sake?”

            “You’ve hardly drunk enough to tinge those ears pink of yours,” Thorin tossed his head. “Those ears only began to redden when you mentioned your… choice of tumbles.” Thorin had turned, though not without catching Bilbo’s mouth _fall_ open. “Good night, Master Baggins.”

            Bilbo wouldn’t admit that when he rolled over mumbling _good night_ that he was _more_ flustered than when Thorin had called him out. Maker, Thorin had made mostly clear he was not one to judge, as he had his nephews to contend with, but also _himself._ And now that Bilbo knew for sure the adventurer was of a possible… _interested_ mind…

 _No. No, nonsense. There is hardly anything to go upon_ , Bilbo thought through a blush, huffing to himself as quietly into his pillow as he could. It did make Bilbo curious as to exactly what the adventurers preferences were, since he had questioned Bilbo’s when they had been at Balin’s.

            When he woke, it was to smiling faces sitting on Thorin’s bed, chatting wildly in harried whispers before their attention had turned.

            “Fili, Kili,” Bilbo rubbed an eye. “Good morning. I am surprised to see you awake.”

            “Why, Master Boggins?” Kili huffed. “Because we are young and sleep in?”

            “Mm, partially,” the writer said as he sat up and stretched, eyes flitting to the nightstand. “You brought breakfast?”

            “We wanted to spend the day with you,” Fili smiled happily, though Bilbo sensed an ulterior motive, though unsure if it was Thorin’s or the nephews.

            “Tell us you will come with us for a hunt!” Kili wiggled excitedly and Bilbo laughed then, reaching for the mug of warm coffee.

            “I am hardly good companionship there,” he teased, but agreed and ordered both boys out just as Thorin was coming within.

            “You can get them to move and go as you please,” Thorin commented, and Bilbo huffed.

            “Well I’m urging you out too, let me change in _peace,_ thank you,” Thorin was soon before a shut door, facing his nephews who were waggling their brows.

            “Stop that,” Thorin sighed, chided softly. “I know there are ill thoughts you have conjuring in those funny brains of yours.”

            “But Uncle~” they sang in unison, as he exhaled again, departing to avoid their curiosities. Bilbo dressed and both Fili and Kili brought the writer out into the grassy plains, showing him their own tricks for sneaking upon rabbits and quails. Fili was the better teacher out of them, with a strength to his voice that made Bilbo listen with keen ears. Kili however, was the better archer, quiet and fluid, Bilbo thought he’d never achieve such ease with a bow.

            When they returned to roast the rabbits, Fili and Kili were prompted to brag about teaching Bilbo their skills in the hunt and that they’d make him one of them soon enough. Bilbo let his eyes flicker up to meet Thorin’s, a knowing smirk forming under that beard.

            “One of you?” Bilbo finally questioned.

            “Yeah, a little adventurer!” Fili giggled, high of their own excitement.

            “A bit pudgy, but hey, all sorts are—ow!” Thorin rapped him upon the head with a heavy hand, forcing Kili to apologize to Bilbo.

            “No harm,” he laughed. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m uh, well fed.”

            “So who feeds you? You must have a pretty lass at home—Uncle!” Another rap, though this jostled him from the arm.

            “I’m a good cook, and no lass waits for my return,” Bilbo looked down to the fire, just for a moment revealing the pain that this conversation was bringing up.

            “No lass waits for Uncle either,” Thorin sighed at Fili speaking out. “No gent either. Mum has to take care of Uncle, and chides him _all_ the time for being a bachelor—ow, Uncle!” Thorin had stood to knock at Fili, before sitting back down with a shake of his head.

            “Uncle gets mad when we’re inquisitive—“

            “It’s not curiosity,” Thorin rolled his eyes. “It’s called disrupting one’s privacy. I know the concept is something you two do not share between one another, but it’s different for other people.” Fili looked to Kili, then back to Bilbo.

            “Are you upset, Mister Bilbo?” Fili asked and he sighed, he hated being torn between catering to sweetness and rationality.

            “You should listen to your Uncle, it is considered rude in polite company,” Bilbo sipped some of the stew he had been cooking. “Although, it is good to know, Thorin…”

            “What?”

            “That your nephews get their spunk from you,” Thorin gaped as his nephews giggled uncontrollably beside him at the teasing jibe. “I cannot imagine being your sister, a woman’s hand is said to be the gentlest and most patient in raising boys.” Thorin growled as his nephews just _burst_ with laughter, faces red. Bilbo offered his hands up in defense—“I was young once too, and I had a patient mother who was both devoted and firm, in that loving way.” Thorin sighed, but allowed the moment to be what it had meant to be; happy. Joyful.

            “How old are you?” Kili managed.

            “How old _are you?”_ Bilbo repeated and Kili beamed.

            “I just turned 18,” He was wiggling in his seat.

            “I will be double that in September,” and Kili looked _shocked._ He looked at _all_ of Bilbo.

            “Nu-uh!” He shoved Fili who did not look at all shocked by this discovery. “Fili! He’s as _old_ as Uncle!”

            “Maker forgive me,” Thorin shadowed his face with a large hand. “And you too, Bilbo please, forgive my insensibility of bringing my nephews.”

            “Hardly,” he chuckled. “This trip will be far more entertaining if I am not the butt-end of all our jokes.” His eyes lingered upon Thorin then, and Fili caught the look.

            “Uncle’s 39—“

            “38—“

            “Don’t lie to Mister Bilbo—“

            “I am 38—“

            “You won’t be—“

            “But I am still—“

            “Doesn’t count, he told us _his_ proper age!” Bilbo could not _help_ but laugh.

            “I do not think a year matters much, boys,” the writer sipped the soup once more before reaching for their provided bowls and scooping it out for them. “You get past 30, and then it’s just a matter of what number is in front when courting.” Uh.

            Not courting. Just. Oh… he chanced looking up to a set of bright blue and chestnut eyes glowing with glee, and Thorin’s, his were just neutral, probably in agreement with Bilbo. Now the writer knew his actual age, he expected they shared _many_ similarities in personality, or attitudes at least.

            Though when Thorin met his eyes, there was this, cute little upturn at the corner of his lips.

            It had Bilbo feeling _like_ he was _half_ his age _all_ over again.

_Maker preserve me. Another night **at least**._

 

 


	8. How Deep Does This Get

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the simplest things that you read from people that give you their whole story and their thoughts on you, or easily lead you astray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So weee, here we are at Chapter 8 :D I don't have a lot of words for this one, save, I like the ending, and I like what I made them do in 9. I've realized they have spent a great deal of time chatting, and not enough "time" has passed between them. In a few chapters, if you notice, it will be "fall" don't be surprised XD
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy. If I update a bit more slowly, these next few weeks, I'm also writing/editing for Sakaji's story too, and several others I've decided were smart to pick up. Look forward to them, and the next chapters (^__^) And if you want a bit smut for a time because these two are just frustrating, go read Sakaji's "Sleeping Shields" >:D

             **Chapter 8: How Deep Does This Get?**

           Fili and Kili would be the first to admit that they were, in debt to their Uncle for being a guardian and protector for them. The family had been _greatly_ disappointed to discover that Fili and Kili had found a bond between one another that was not… _supposed_ to exist. But, it did. How could they change that? They tried so hard, but it just made them pine _more._

           Thorin and their mother had been worried for them at first, but seeing their reactions to being parted it was _far_ more heartbreaking than forcing their love to cease. Their grandfather and great grandfather was adverse to such… discoveries, nearly writing them out of any sort of inheritance, but Thorin had part of the control over Erebor Trading, and he wrote them back in.

           Thorin partially believed they might grow out of it. They seemed _interested_ in other people, classmates they had met and such, but, they were strung together. And Thorin cared so much, loved them like his own sons. Their father was in compliance, and they made a family with what they had, ignoring the judging words of the rest of the family.

           But the brothers knew that Thorin and their mother and father would not always be there. That they would not always be around to guard and protect. Thus when they were invited to join Thorin on his ‘adventure’ to write his book, they promised to be as decent as they could. Thorin also knew the risk in taking them, but it was his family _first_ over any silly book.

           The three of them were _greatly_ relieved and _content_ that Bilbo had been such an… accepting person. Perhaps he still had questions, perhaps he did not think that it was right, but he admitted it was not his place to judge them, for his… _own interests_ in men, was just as queer.

           However, as worried as they were for the future, the present was far more disconcerting to the brothers. More particularly, how much their Uncle and Bilbo flirted, as if not noticing they were _doing_ it! If either of them had said _half_ of what those two had muttered, the brothers would have been rolling on the ground, kisses filled with tongue and teeth.

           Alas, they had a lot of work to do, Kili had confessed to Fili who agreed. They spent only a few days at the mills, mostly hunting and purchasing food for their long journey through the forest. Their Uncle had drawn his camera out the moment they crossed into the thick of the forests, so they fell back with Bilbo who had collected a walking stick for himself.

           “Do not harass him, you two,” Thorin called, turning over his shoulder, then outright walking backwards. “I’ll know if you do.” He waved between them and Bilbo chuckled.

           “I’ll scream,” Bilbo had teased and Thorin smirked, turning back around. It wasn’t fall yet, still summer, late summer, the leaves beginning to yellow, at least, some of maple leaves and oak leaves. The pines would remain evergreen. Bilbo paused under a particularly large redwood, gazing up it’s magnificent length, wondering if their names came from the trees remaining green all year long. Fili called to him and he trotted to catch up. They took breaks, though not often.,Bilbo explained to Thorin it was flat, he could walk _flat._

           Their first night camping had Bilbo reacquainting himself with the construction of tents. To which Fili and Kili lent their _expert_ hands. Somewhere between the river and now, they had decided to show Bilbo exactly how _aware_ they were of their sexuality. They wanted a reaction, and Bilbo would not give in, though their Uncle often chastised them.

           They were around the campfire, Bilbo showing Thorin the _finer_ aspects of cooking hare over an open fire, though Fili and Kili didn’t see it that way. They were flirting in their mind, though they whispered _why do old people take such a long time_ Thorin had caught wind of their plotting, and stood up straight, with eyes sharp. “Whatever it is your murmuring, stop it,” He waved a hand. “This is—“

           “Please, Uncle, don’t say it’s serious,” Kili whined a bit, sighing. Bilbo chuckled.

           “Well, that’s the last time I make _your_ meals taste delicious,” the writer teased. “Mouth watering- I guess you like crispy!”

           “N! No! Ah, Mister Bilbo, we didn’t mean anything by it!” Bilbo had cooked _several_ times for them, in fact, that was _more or less_ his duty when they set up camp. He had strung out some raw pork to be cured, though rather crudely with what was available for jerky along their trip.

           “Mmm, that’s what I thought,” he tutted and Thorin smiled towards Bilbo, a flutter that the writer could whip the brothers into shape without help. Surprised, but pleased. “You’re better with them, than I am,” Bilbo huffed then.

            “Nonsense,” he murmured, though as he salted their potato stew, Thorin had leaned over, causing their shoulders to bump harmlessly. “Anyway, the potatoes should be almost as firmnas when you started cooking with them. The edges will start looking more transparent as they soften. That’s how you tell when it’s done.” Neither pulled away from the other, it was as if they did not even notice they were so close.

           Kili was _writhing_ with frustration that nothing was occurring besides their continued cooking lesson. Fili sighed too, resting his hand upon his chin with a grunt. Bilbo’s eyes flickered up, catching their disappointed and bored faces, smiling widely, and straightened. “Why don’t you come and I’ll show you two how to cook too, never know, might need it if I’m not around!” They leapt up, squeezing their Uncle out of the way, eager now, and Thorin had ruffled both their heads before he sat down, watching. Bilbo was a patient teacher, he had far more patience than he would have ever managed. It was with a grin and fondness in his chest that he drew out the pipe he’d been whittling away, and drew his own out.

           He lit it, tossing the match into fire after he had finished and Bilbo found his eyes raised to Thorin. He figured he smoked, most travelers did. Most of his own countrymen did too, often _far_ too much pipe-weed at the tavern for their own good. Fili and Kili noticed the look, _beaming._

           “Mister Bilbo,” Fili cooed and his eyes darted to the shining blue ones. “Do you smoke?”

           “You can just call me Bilbo,” Bilbo nodded, smiling though. “I do indeed, though, I’m pretty sure that was _one thing_ I did not bring with me.” He had believed that the brothers called him such out of politeness, though now he was sure it was to be teasing and coy in some respect. He shook his head as he sat down to the let the food simmer, taking up his journal beside him as Kili and Fili sat on either side of him, watching.

           “You didn’t get another when you were in town?” Kili asked softly, then pointing to their Uncle. “A pipe, I mean.”

           “No,” Bilbo laughed and Thorin glanced up, the writer catching those eyes. “I uh, had other things on my mind than if I would have time for a smoke.” Fili and Kili both stared pointedly to their Uncle who, addled, cocked a brow to them, before returning to his whittling.

           “Uncle!”

           “What?” He said, eyes still focused upon his new pipe.

           “Bilbo wants to smoke—“

           “It’s fine—“

           “He left his pipe at home—“

           “And he’d definitely appreciate—“

           “Oh I do not want to smoke!” Bilbo tutted, huffing, but Thorin’s eyes were a bit big at his slight outbreak. Bilbo felt his cheeks heat up and he sighed.

           “Uncle makes great pipes!”

           “Did you know he carves?” Bilbo’s eyes could figure that much, he had seen that pipe before, upon the great mountain they had ascended, nearly unsuccessfully.

           “Yes I know he—“

           “I bet he’d make you one if you asked!” Kili had stated, then turned to Thorin who just groaned.

           “Will you two leave the writer alone for five minutes,” he growled out, teeth tight about the pipe’s mouthpiece. “Unlike us…” he drew the pipe out then. “He’s actually _doing_ something useful with his time. Writing. You see?” He waved the pipe’s mouthpiece to all of Bilbo as if to signify a specific pose was his ‘writing’ pose. “Stop pestering him, or I’ll send you back to your mother—“

           “NO!” They had shouted, standing and coming to their Uncle, begging he not send them away and Bilbo laughed.

           “I would be an awful writer, Thorin, if I could not multitask,” their eyes met across the fire. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

           “It’s not polite,” Thorin argued, though he returned the pipe to his mouth, puffing a few times, before pausing. Fili and Kili sat away from them both, quietly whining whilst waiting for dinner. Bilbo had stood to check the hare and potatoes when Thorin stood too, and… wiped off the mouthpiece of his pipe, offering it to Bilbo.

           The writer had stared down to the lit pipe with blinking eyes. “You can have the rest.” He tossed his head to the food. “Until you have your own.” Bilbo would have said something if he wasn’t _choking_ on his own saliva. He’d never expected to be offered, let alone even have this conversation come up.

           “W… Thank you,” he murmured, too ecstatic for his words to louder than a whisper.

           “You’re quite welcome,” Thorin eyed their stew, asking if it was done. Bilbo stuck the pipe into his mouth and began to draw the lid off with a thick potholder. He set it on a log, all the whilst puffing like a chimney. They enjoyed dinner together and Bilbo returned Thorin’s pipe to him afterwards, thanking him for it again. “If you’d like…” he tossed his head to his nephews who were climbing into their tent, full with dinner. “I can make you one for the road. It won’t be as elegant as the ones in the shops, but…”

           “R.. Really?” Thorin looked up at the surprise on the writer’s face. “I’d… I’d really like that, if… if you could. I might um, have to borrow some of your pipe-weed.”

           “I was offering that as well, dear writer,” Bilbo let his cheeks flush, though he wasn’t entirely sure _why_ he allowed them to. He bid Thorin a good night, stumbled back towards his tent and fell into the blankets with embarrassment.

           They set off early that morning, catching foxes and deer trotting to and fro that would skittishly leap away as soon as they could catch sight of the four men travelling through the wilderness. Thorin snapped plenty of pictures, changing the roll of film when they had come for their first break. Fili and Kili had been satisfied Thorin had promised to make Bilbo a pipe for him, but there was still that…

           Dissatisfaction between Thorin and Bilbo’s interactions. During lunch, they could hear a soft trickle in the distance, which meant they were close to the lake and the waterfall. “So soon.” Bilbo had come alongside Thorin, offering a biscuit and an apple who gladly took them both. “I thought since, the mountain took such a period of time we’d be wandering the hillsides for days.”

            “Not all of the places are far out of the way, Master Baggins,” Bilbo glanced up.

            “You know I told your nephews to call me just Bilbo. You still switch,” the writer commented.

           “I find that one name does not suit all the ways I wish to call upon you,” His eyes lingered and there lit a flame _deep_ in Bilbo’s gut at such a firm gaze, steady, unwavering. His throat _tightened._

           “A-Ah,” Bilbo scratched at his chin. “I’m afraid I do not see anything in you but Thorin.” His eyes tried to hold that powerful gaze. “Unless I’m poking _fun.”_ Thorin let a large smile smooth his features.

           “Then you need to poke more fun, Bilbo,” the writer huffed at him. “Have you finished chapter two?” They had both turned together, which had encouraged Kili and Fili to gasp when their shoulders nudged together again... but they were still a few inches from one another. There was nothing further that occurred either.

           “They need to be alone,” Fili admitted, smirking to his brother. Kili pounced him, resting his chin upon Fili’s as he hugged him from behind, Fili sat for this embrace.

           “I bet we could set a romantic scene between them,” Kili said. “That lake! What if they went bathing?”

           “Do you really think that Mister Bilbo would just strip down?” neither said anything, letting their imaginations run away. When Bilbo later came before them and asked if they had eaten yet, he had to snap to get their attention. Their eyes though, raked up Bilbo’s frame, curiosity and lust springing to their faces at his sight. “Do tell me what you two devious boys were thinking of? Those faces hardly belong to innocent youths.” He turned and offered apples to them both. They bit into them.

           “You said you were a gentleman?” Kili started. “So what happens when we all need to strip and bathe?” Bilbo jumped a bit, yes that had been an issue he had wanted to question _Thorin_ about when they had been in the mountains, but they had been lucky enough to be able to rinse _mostly_ out at that river. Then at Balin’s place when they had stayed for two weeks.

           “We won’t pry, we promise,”

           “I doubt your words hold much promise,” Bilbo smirked. “You’ll just have to be greatly disappointed when you see nothing of fancy.” He was turning towards pack again.

           “I see plenty things I fancy,” Bilbo craned his head over his shoulder to see Fili and Kili _eyeing_ him like prey.

           “Oh, do you now?” Bilbo shut his pack and drank some water. “And what do you see with those big eyes brown eyes of yours, Keelin?” Kili’s cheeks lit a furious pink and Fili had begun to snicker. “Don’t think for a second, Fergus, I do not see your eyes glued to the same parts as your brother’s.” Their mouths parted in stun, their cheeks bright and Bilbo walked back to his bag when Thorin walked by, seeing their flustered and gaping faces…

           He followed their line of sight, to the writer.

           “Close your mouths, they’re hanging open like fly traps,” he tutted, both brothers jumped a bit, the flush darkening under the presence of their Uncle who had caught them _gazing_ _longingly_ at the writer. “Honestly.” He wanted to chastise further, but having looked towards the writer who was _smirking_ about has _pleased_ as they had been shocked… “And you, egging them on, what trickery do you play?” Though the words were far less _harsh_ and chiding than they were teasing.

           “It’s not my fault I’m handsome,” he had replied and then- stiffened. Realizing he had just admitted to Thorin, _truthfully_ why they had been gazing so… _hard._ “Um…” But Thorin’s eyes did a similar drop over him, brows rose high upon his brow when their eyes reconnected.

           “Well, try to keep all of that under control, then, I don’t need _more_ noises in the night,” Bilbo’s eyes owled, and Fili and Kili had found their chance to tease Bilbo, grabbing his arms and hugging them, giggling. “Didn’t I just say to _not_ fuss with him—“

           “But Uncle, he’s handsome, we’re allowed,”

           “Besides, Mister Bilbo is a single man, he can choose—“

           “Absolutely! He would probably choose us, we’re fun, Uncle,” Bilbo would have slapped himself in the face, had he the arms. Thorin looked as discomforted as he felt.

           “I am sure he’d appreciate the use of his arms, boys?” They sighed but released him and trotted off to gather their things, apparently that had been enough _thrill_ for them for the moment. “Well, I am surprised you held them off for so long.”

           “Well, they’re cute, it’s hard not to give in when they want to see who has the better… uh,” Bilbo swallowed, could he even _talk_ like this, with their _Uncle?_ Could he say they were attractive, that their playful banter and fondling was no more unwanted than his own teases?

           “Better…?”

           “Prowess,” he said. “In the… _intimate_ matters.”

           “They have a lot to be surprised by then, no, Master Baggins?” He was smirking, widely, Bilbo thought his face might crack with how big that grin was. A-And had he just _said_ that Bilbo was- That he was a.. a _deviant!?_ His cheeks were aflame and that was how they started their journey onwards. By evening, they were barely a mile from the lake, and were able to see it the growing darkness. They made camp. They intended on  moving closer towards the lake the following morning, so they did not set up permanently. Quail was roasted that night, and they laughed until yawns began to sound off and the four of them all retired to their tents.

           In the middle of the night, Bilbo found himself waking to a whimper or a moan. To each, he just sighed and rolled over, trying his best to plug his ears. He didn’t need any more reason to get flustered when he saw the Durin men.

           Afternoon found them standing before the lake, the brothers not bothering with enjoying the view longer than a minute before tossing their things down and asking if they could for a swim. “You set up your things, then you can swim.” They groaned and turned to Bilbo—

           “Don’t look at me, you heard him,” He tutted to the boys who pouted and said Bilbo was mean just like Uncle. “Oh come now, maybe if you set up quick enough we will join you.” They growled lowly to themselves, as teenagers would, but did make quick efforts to settle their campsite. Bilbo had been heading for his own tent, when they offered to help; the faster they were the done, the sooner they could get into the lake? They had been eager, grouchy that they were being forced into chores, but, eager nonetheless. Thorin had just glanced over when they were rifling through the things for Thorin’s tent.

           “Now look what you did, we’ll _have_ to join them now,” Thorin chuckled softly, watching them with happy eyes.

           “As if you don’t want to go jump in that lake, I know we’re old, but come on, when was the last time you just, jumped into a lake like you were a child?” He teased back and Thorin glanced back with a sigh. “Go snap your billion photos, and I’ll entertain the children, alright?” Thorin’s mouth fell open. “I know that’s what you want to do.” He patted his arm and beamed. “So go.” He gave a gentle push and Thorin was speechless. He had no idea how to begin to thank the writer for sensing his desire to photograph _before_ the lake was rippling with his nephews, nor how to get them _away_ so that he could. Bilbo asked them also to show him how they build a campfire, and they were more than eager to tug and pull the writer about, collecting stones and clearing a large circle for the fire.

           Thorin was doing a panorama, snapping bits and parts of the forest as well as the lake within the center. But something caught his eye within the last shot, and so he took a few. When his eyes raised to see what had been so full of life—

           He’d realized he snapped the writer again, smiling this time, watching contently as the boys hustled about their camp. He stared for an impossibly long time, though it could not have been more than a few moments. Bilbo had turned, had waved and Thorin inclined his head, continuing to watch as Bilbo rolled his things out in his tent. He stared down to his camera, then back to the lake, he…

           He needed to set this down for a moment. Thorin found it most _odd_ he had photographed Bilbo _twice_ now, both nearly out of accident, but this second time… it wasn’t so much an accident. Bilbo had been in his frame, he’d seen him, and he took that photo without a thought… He returned to their camp with a heavy frown on his brow, but as soon as his nephews bounded towards, _pleading_ they go to the lake, he hid it away. Encouraged them to go. Bilbo asked if he got anything good on his camera and for a moment Thorin believed that the writer had caught him. But… he seemed generally interested if the adventurer captured good photos.

           “Yes, a few good ones, I’ll have to wait to develop them, but I think they are worth something,” He smiled and set his camera to his tent. “Aren’t you going to the lake?”

           “I am, but I’m going to go because I want a bath,” Bilbo held up a towel and soap.

           “Seriously, you brought…” Thorin started to laugh.

           “What, I don’t need to be dirty on an adventure, thank you very much,” He rubbed his neck. “I don’t want bugs.”

           “Are you saying _I_ have bugs?”

           “Do you?”

           “Of course not,” But Bilbo looked rather unconvinced, if playfully so. “But I would appreciate if I may use it.”

           “Oh, now you want to take a bath too,” Bilbo drawled but nodded. They both came to the edge of the lake, Bilbo setting his things aside when Fili and Kili ran to them, quite…

           Nude. Bilbo hadn’t been expecting it, for _he_ had been prepared to go in with his smalls… but… now his eyes were glued to their naked forms, _soaked_ from the wat—He turned away. He would not look. These were Thorin’s nephews, _Maker forgive me,_ he growled to himself. Thorin had glanced over to see the writer, see those ears lit pink by his nephews _lack_ of decency.

           “You just leapt in, bare as babes?” Thorin chided and they shrunk back slightly at his words.

           “We- I mean- we’re all guys, isn’t it alright? Obviously if it was a woman we’d have not—“

           “Yeah, Uncle, we didn’t mean to, is Bilbo not going to join us if we—“

           “Mister Bilbo we can change—“

           “Please get in! We will put our smalls back on if—“

           “N… No that’s quite fine,” Bilbo swallowed and confidently turned about. “I just didn’t expect it. I’m uh, I don’t have siblings, so if I had been nude so… _openly_ with others it was when we were all but babes playing.” They cheered and dove back in, but Thorin came beside him to grin. was the one to come beside him and grin.

           “Oh, come now, I do not think that story is completely accurate, you have lain with others,” he teased and Bilbo glared at him.

           “And we didn’t run naked into a lake, in public—“

           “Who’s to see?” He teased.

           “I thought you were chastising them!” Bilbo stomped lightly, though Thorin knew there was no real threat or bite to his words, more frustration and _shock_ than anything. “Thorin you are just as bad as they are, I’ll have you know, I’m a _gentleman!”_ His eyes flitted to the brothers splashing and diving in the water, the sight of their bodies re-appearing in his minds eye.

           “Gentlemen do not stare as you did,” Thorin stepped aside to afford the writer _some_ form of privacy, drawing off his jacket and shirt without a glance back. Though… _Bilbo_ was looking. Thorin set his things to a fallen tree nearby, drawing off his boots and then his belt and slacks- Bilbo _did_ have the decency to turn away then. When he heard the splashing of someone entering the lake, he managed to let his eyes wander- he’d not know if Thorin had gone in, as bare as a babe as his nephews had.

           Bilbo would _not._ He set his things behind a large rock, standing as he drew his clothes off, worried for prying eyes. No, he was comfortable with _who_ he was, comfortable with how his body looked. However, quite suddenly he found himself nervous of their judgment, of their eyes; it was _obvious_ through _clothing_ Bilbo was no seasoned traveler, or spent a great deal of exercising either. There was no reason to impress further, if they did not like him how he was, why bother?

 _Curses, the one summer you decide **not** to try and at least lose the belly you’re naked at a lake with three men—Maker, no, it’s just a bath and they would not judge!_ He shook himself defiantly and crept behind the rock with his soap in hand. He slipped into the lake, cool against warm skin. He gave a shiver as he submerged to wet his hair and remained close by the rock, watching Thorin splash and play with his nephews. Of course, their interests had shifted when they spotted Bilbo, swimming like sharks before him, trying to get Bilbo to play as well. “Let him bathe, you two.”

           “You’re going to bathe _now?”_ As if _shocked_ that the idea of lake didn’t _first_ inspire playtime.

           “I brought soap—“

           “You did!” Fili exclaimed and then… “Would you be so kind and let us share?”

           “Would you clean our hair for us?” Kili squealed. “I can’t ever reach my back.”

           “You’re getting _fat,”_ Fili teased.

           “I am not! Mother does it!” Bilbo sighed.

           “Fine, but just your backs,” He waved his finger and both turned quickly, wet hair spinning and kicking up water. Thorin chuckled as he came and rested against the rock, watching his nephews all but melt into the lake at the attentions.

           “They’ve always been ones to warm up to strangers fast,” Bilbo said he _saw_ that. “Though, they’ve never been eager to _befriend_ strangers as they have done with you.”

           “Uncle, Mister Bilbo is nice and he makes good food,” Fili hummed happily as Bilbo set to lathering the soap into blonde locks.

           “Yeah, and he’s funny, and he doesn’t look at us weird, he likes us too!” Bilbo sighed and patted Kili upon the head with a smile. How many people had stared upon them as if queer? How many times were they told _not_ to be close in public as to avoid such glares.

           “I know,” Thorin murmured softly beside them. “Master Baggins is full of surprises it seems.”

           “H-Hardly,” he swallowed thickly, finally dunking both the boys beneath the water to rinse their hair. They turned around to thank Bilbo for the wash.

           “Uncle,” Fili stretched. “You should have Mister Bilbo clean your back for you!”

           “Yeah, it feels good!” Kili had added. “Feels like I’m a lad again!”

           “You _are_ still a lad,” Thorin chided softly.

           “I’m 18,” Kili snuffed with a slight pout.

           “You’re the younger brother,” Fili winked and Kili gave him a shove. “You should let Mister Bilbo wash your back Uncle, he’s got soft hands!”

           “Very soft hands, hey, Fee, I’ll race you~” Fili nudged Kili in agreement, and turned to swim away.

           “Not adventurer’s hands I’m afraid,” Bilbo murmured, a light blush darkening his cheeks, but his eyes did wander over Thorin. “They…” he coughed and those eyes moved to fall upon him. “They were not… wrong to offer my apparent _service_ in back washing.” He tried to clear his throat with those steady eyes focused upon him. When that didn’t help, he gave a few pats to his chest.

           “I’d imagine I’d have to float before you for your to reach,” Ah. A no then, Bilbo glanced upwards. Sure Thorin was a great _many_ inches taller, but it was not as if the writer could not have reached. It would have _awkward_ , but he had assumed Thorin would assist with that.

           “I suppose,” Bilbo shrugged. “Can’t help the short genes, comes from my father,” Bilbo sighed but before he could even continue and steer the conversation _away_ Thorin was trying to find the bottom of the bank. It wasn’t far either, it was a perfect height, he was nearly level with Bilbo. The sight of broad shoulders splattered with dark, nearly black tresses of wet hair had Bilbo biting his tongue, anything to distract him.

           “I’ll repay the favor, of course, I’m not selfish like my nephews,”

           “Well apparently unlike the three of you I am quite flexible and can reach my back _just_ fine,” Bilbo tutted as if _proud_ that he needed no assistance.

           “Is that what you told others when you tumbled with them then?” Thorin met large hazel eyes with a grin. “I’m sorry, you just said you were flexible, a joke needed to be made.”

           “I’ll have you know, Mister Durin, no one has ever _bothered_ to learn _just_ how flexible I was,” Thorin snickered.

           “Indeed, I find that impossible to believe,” he glanced over again and Bilbo turned his face so he could start sudsing his shoulders.

           “Yes, well, it’s the truth, I swear it,” He murmured, though silence hovered over them, it was not uncomfortable as Bilbo had thought it would be. It was quite pleasant, in fact. They had not gotten _dirty_ per se on their adventure. Sweat and oils had just accumulated, and Bilbo could feel it sliding away under his ministrations. He also took the time to _admire_ such a… _carved_ backside. There were strong muscles, flexing tendons, tanned skin…

           Scars. Of course Bilbo expected them, but seeing them was different. He touched one and Thorin chuckled. “Oh dear, is it really ticklish?” Thorin nodded slightly.

           “With a touch that light, yes,” Bilbo took another thick swallow and then… saw a large white gash, like a blade or something had sliced through, beside what had to be something like a puncture wound. He touched them gently, though not to warrant a laugh.

           “This one is the biggest,” he murmured, mostly to himself and Thorin glanced over his shoulder.

           “I can admit I was once young and stupid,” the half smile grew wider when he fully turned to see Bilbo. “I got lost.”

           “Y-You… like really?” Thorin sighed and turned away.

           “Hard to imagine?”

           “About as hard as you disbelieving I had interested lovers,” the writer tutted back and Thorin nodded.

           “Alright, it was one of my first great ideas, I wanted to travel to one of my family’s company outposts,” Bilbo continued washing his back, though both knew the soap had long washed away. Neither seemed to care, let alone _notice._ “It was a few locals that interacted with the indigenous tribes there for their wools and fabrics. I met with the local guides, and they pointed me in the right direction, and then I became lost. I brought a map and compass, though they did little to help me.” Bilbo was silent, save for his gasps, and sighs, listening keenly to the story. “Eventually a dust storm picked up, and I had to find shelter, except, I fell. Down a slope, jagged rocks, the like. Not unlike you and that leg, though I couldn’t see. I landed on a particularly sharp rock, that punctured me. I was lucky.”

           “Lucky, where is there luck in this?” Bilbo huffed, flabbergasted by the story, and shocked he’d survived.

           “I was found by those indigenous people, they were kind, and healed me, and thank the _Maker_ the tribe leader spoke a _fair amount_ of English, I’d have been lost!” Thorin turned to see Bilbo _floored_. “I learned much of their language, and eventually they deemed me worthy to travel back to the outpost. That’s how I got those. They’re the largest, and I’ve tried not to make mistakes like that again, I’m lucky everything else was small.” Bilbo let his tentative fingers press against them again before taking the soap into his hands and washing Thorin’s hair. “Oh and then you go and rub the scalp, how do you know how to _please?”_

           “I just realized you’re back is clean,” he giggled, embarrassed he’d spent so much time… _touching_ his back and… Maker, his hair was soft. He’d thought it would have been dry or wiry, but it wasn’t at all, it had lost its slight waves in the water and Thorin seemed to _purr_ at his scalp being massaged. “That’s… I would not have been able to survive that, that’s such a beautiful story. Er, save the part you were wounded, I mean. Living amongst natives!” Bilbo leaned Thorin’s head back, and was surprised with the amount of trust Thorin lent him in that single moment. Sure, he was just washing his hair, sure that was all Bilbo had planned, but there was a flutter in his chest at that action. Thorin’s eyes were closed, a contented smile on his lips. It was small though and nearly hidden by his beard. When Thorin sat up and turned, he wrung his hair out, and tossed it back over his shoulder.

           “You’re turn,” he wiggled a finger in a circular motion and Bilbo realized he had been serious about _repayment._

           “Y-You don’t have too,”

           “I want to,” Oh and that just made Bilbo spin around even faster, shoulders tense and scrunched up to his ears practically. “Such a fussy thing.” Thorin rested his large hands upon his more narrowed shoulders, pressing them down and they fell instantly. And as much as Bilbo let his eyes rake upon tanned skin, Thorin let his own wander over such porcelain-like features. No, Bilbo was not fit, but he wasn’t unhealthy either. Men weren’t curvy by nature, and those that had such features were odd looking in Thorin’s mind, but Bilbo?

           He was not at all as _round_ as he had made himself out to be. He raised his eyes to his wet blonde hair, his curls all but _gone_ from the water. He started there and Bilbo hummed, but coughed, trying to hide such a noise. So he sunk his fingers in a bit deeper against thick hair, and was rewarded with _another_ hum. When he got to his neck, Bilbo outright _moaned_ and then—

           “Oh um, not the neck,” he would not face Thorin. “I don’t want to sound like I’m a tween discovering his body for the first time.”

           “Sensitive neck?” A single finger traced its length and saw _chills_ appear instantaneously upon his skin. “ _Very_ sensitive. I would not judge should you decide to belt out a moan.” Bilbo huffed. “I’ll know I’m doing a good job. I’ve been told I have expert fingers.”

           “Is there any way to convince you to leave my neck alone?” _deft hands?_ Oh the promise of a backrub was _too_ hopeful.

           “None,” Bilbo sighed and bowed his head, though he covered his mouth with his hand quickly. The first little squeeze had his shoulders tensing and when Thorin lowered his hands, he relaxed. Thorin avoided his neck for _most_ of the time, catching Bilbo off guard and a resulting gasp or moan or squeak had Thorin far too amused. “Pudgy little thing you are.”

           “Thanks,” the drawl had Thorin frowning.

           “I didn’t mean it like… ah, that was pretty rude,” he sighed, brows furrowing together a bit. “Just, I had expected another feel.”

           “Another feel?”

           “It’s not weighty, I’m not good at describing this,” Thorin waved a hand. “Your soft, is about as much description as you’ll get from me.” The adventurer was a bit displeased with his own lack of words, but Bilbo seemed to accept them and probably conjured up his own meanings. “I didn’t mean harm.”

           “I know I’m on the rounder side of things, I’m not offended,” he teased. “Startled you’d call it out as your nephews.” Thorin felt his cheeks darken and took a breath. “I’m a writer, in a nice comfy home, what did you expect me to feel like? Rock hard muscles?” He elbowed Thorin’s stomach lightly and that had the adventurer laughing.

           “Alright, so I’ll admit I’ve never been with a, person as shapely-“

           “Okay, I’m not shapely, I’m _round,_ that’s a single shape, round,” Bilbo raised his hand playfully warning Thorin.

           “But you…” his hands discovered something that his eyes had not seen. Could not see under the water. “You were once _in shape_ to have these little spots.” A press to his lower back, his thumbs slotting against two dips just above the swell of an arse Thorin avoided touching. Bilbo gasped and he could feel his body trembling at the press.

           “W… well yes,” Bilbo managed a puff, a shaky breath in hopes it would still his heart and heavy breath. “Once I was a shape _other_ than round.” Thorin let his thumbs roll over those little indents before he moved his hands back up to… _safer_ parts. “I imagine you haven’t had my type before.”

           “You’re type?” Thorin mimicked.

           “Yes, my type, shorter, less uh… defined, chunky if you will,” Bilbo felt calloused hands come up to his neck then. “A little less attractive than someone more lean.” Thorin rose a brow.

           “Well, no, as I’ve said, I’ve never had _plump_ before,”  teased the adventurer. He wondered for a moment if Bilbo was uncomfortable with his form, but the way he joked, it was impossible not to see how comfortable Bilbo was in his own skin. He truly wouldn’t consider Bilbo at all fat, pudgy, had shape, _meat_ for those fascinated in such… fetishes. “What sorts do you attract, Master Baggins?”

           “Mostly lithe,” he sighed. “Lean muscle. I’ve never been interested in bigger muscle unless it was going to do something for me, and that usually comes down to endurance.” He giggled. “So I’m not on your list of conquests?”

           “Am I?”

           “Alright~” Bilbo brought his hands up in defeat. “We’ll agree you haven’t experienced bodacious, and I haven’t experienced…” Bilbo turned to look at Thorin. “W-Whatever you are.” Thorin chuckled, and Bilbo felt heat blossom all over.

           “True enough,” he took a step away and tangled his hand into his hair, tipping his head back to douse it in water again. There was trust upon his face, willingness. Maybe this was what had Bilbo so stunned when he had washed his hair. Immediate trust. The sun wasn’t setting quite yet, but Thorin wanted to start a fire before it became too late. “Finished? Thoroughly enjoyed?”

           “Oh why did you stop with the back rub, backwash thing?” Bilbo rubbed his shoulders. Thorin barked out in laughter, which brought the attention of his nephews, and they rushed over, eager to know what had been so funny. Though neither Thorin or Bilbo admitted what had transpired, they kept their mouths shut for different reasons.

           When they began to come out of the lake, Bilbo was gifted _another_ splendid image of Thorin’s nephews, shoving and playing with one another, naked, no sense of propriety or worries at all. He smiled and when Thorin walked past…

           Well, he definitely admired _that_ as well, despite being more sensible and wearing his smalls. Bilbo warmed himself up in a towel and allowed the others to share in its massive warmth as they stumbled all into their tents to change. Thorin started the fire, and Fili and Kili brought out their pheasants they had hunted.

           “Did you know Bilbo, you could eat bugs?”

           “Ew,” Kili gave a push to Fili.

           “You ate bugs when you were little,” Fili teased.

           “Really, you eat bugs out here?” Bilbo asked and Thorin chuckled.

           “When you need to, sure,” he had moved over, closer to his nephews and Bilbo, though Fili and Kili stood to go to their tent, allowing Thorin the chance to move closer. “Those that haven’t hunted or are not experts, it’s not uncommon. On some of the longer ventures, I doubt we will need to pick at bugs, many trees provide as much nourishment.” Bilbo was just _stunned_.

           “I will not eat a bug,” he teased.

           “Grasshoppers taste wonderful over a fire,” He nudged the sickly looking writer and Bilbo groaned.

           “That’s just…” he waved.

           “You will do well then, to learn how to hunt,” Bilbo glared softly.

           “I have three strapping lads to do _that,”_ He tutted. “I think I’ll forage for berries and the like.” He responded and Fili and Kili asked if their potatoes were done, as they had returned. Dinner passed without much excitement, Thorin had finally finished whittling the pipe and caught Bilbo before he tucked himself into the tent.

           “Here,” he offered and Bilbo blinked down to the yellow-wood pipe, mouth parting. “I mean it, have it.” Bilbo held his hand out to take it delicately. It was smooth, and well shaped, little runes of a sort chipped into the edges.

           “This is beautiful Thorin,” he raised his eyes and saw a bright smile, glimmering eyes. “I don’t know if I can smoke from it, make an ugly one next time, will you.” He had teased, and stroked the mouthpiece- it seemed almost polished. There was no amount of ‘thank yous’ that could change what Thorin had gifted. “Thank you.”

           “You’re welcome,” Thorin had turned.

           “I mean it,” He raised his eyes and Thorin met them. “I won’t smoke from it.” Thorin chuckled.

           “Here I thought you were a gentleman, now you’re being over-gracious of my gift,” Bilbo’s cheeks lit.

           “I am,” he looked to it. “I’ll have to think of something to gift in return.”

           “That is the great part about gifts,” Bilbo hummed, meeting Thorin’s soft and _warm_ gaze “You’ve already gifted me with your smile.” His mouth _hung_ open at Thorin’s statement, who nodded and whispered a good night to him. Bilbo was left standing for a moment longer before, licking his lips and turning to his tent. That was… that could have been any sort of compliment. A welcome in one aspect, a reply of not needing a returning gift, or just a flat out _flirt._ Either of them had Bilbo red, flushed and buried in his blankets with a shiver.

 _I’ve gifted you a smile?_ He touched the pipe with a grin. _Hardly a gift worthy as yours._

           Bilbo would not know the words he thought as he trailed to sleep, only that when he woke…

           He was still flushed pink, and fidgety with _thrill._


	9. Devaneo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devaneo: n. a superficial and usually temporary romance, involving playful behavior that demonstrates sexual attraction to someone- (source: wordstuck.co.vu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY. 1000+ hits. I would say something like "If I get 1500, I will make a smutty one-shot of Fili x Kili" buuut I'm not entirely sure that will work XD.
> 
> If however, it magically does, I will write a smutty one-shot of them rolling drunk after Dear Mister Bilbo has tucked them in for your support :3 (I might just do it for myself too!) Hope you enjoy this chapter as much I as did writing it! Completely sweet and exactly where I want my lovelies to be!

             **Chapter 9: Devaneo**

            They spent the next several days exploring the vastness of the lake. Thorin mostly taking photos and making references in their story to specific scenes, battles, whom would arrive, what had happened. He told Bilbo he imagined a city constructed on a lake and the writer had laughed. Thorin for a moment was upset, it wound in his chest as he turned to glare at Bilbo for his poking fun.

            But there was no ill-will or harassment on his jovial face. He just explained that Thorin had a very wild imagination for a grown man he had not _expected_ to see in… well. Not particularly _obvious_ creative people. Bilbo however, did not accompany Thorin often. He would sit away from the camp, as the two boys’ talking was often a cause of his distraction, for no other reason than conversation. Though, when _not_ writing, they would take him hunting, deciding they should teach him _big game_ hunting.

            This had to be an… _ordeal_ at the least, for Bilbo. No there was food aplenty, Thorin had assured, even without the sustenance of fresh meat. Bilbo could only _wonder_ where it was, for all he saw were shrubs, trees and the dirt below. Stalking a deer was tricky, having to be downwind was a good help, but they often scampered from a crunch under foot or movement. There were a few females eating, lounging, and a young male, fat with winter and rut. Kili pointed out they should take the male, though he didn’t explain otherwise, for fear of scaring them off. Fili lined Bilbo’s aim up, but Bilbo immediately sense trickery was afoot.

            There was _no_ need to stand so close, nor to whisper against ear. Kili looked _upset_ he was not the one helping Bilbo to shoot, but stood ready to fire the second shot, should the first fail. Fili turned his head just the slightest and Bilbo lost it- a sharp gasp of breath from his lips had him releasing the arrow into the deer’s neck!

            When it tried to run off, it stumbled and Bilbo, inexperienced, had to look away. It was still wailing softly when Kili rushed over pinning his head and body down to end it of it’s misery. Bilbo managed to swallow down the bile that rose to his throat, he crept towards their kill, both brothers looking pleased, though there was a glint within Fili’s eyes.

            They hauled the kill back to camp where Thorin was _astounded_ they had managed to get a young buck. They’d have plenty of food for the next few days, and told them that they should move to prepare it to extend its quality. That took a good portion of the day for Bilbo, learning to skin a deer. He had to take many break,. He had _never_ been so close to a wild animal, let alone skinned one. He half expected the thing to sprout up and leave. Fili and Kili had been good teachers, even with all their joking, and pranking. They’d learned from Thorin after all. often pranking Bilbo, but they had learned from Thorin.

            And Thorin was an even _better_ instructor. He shooed his nephews aside and showed Bilbo an easier way to skin it. They could use the fur later on either as a blanket or to keep their beds dry, or when they reached town to have it cured, to use as additional tent supplies.

            “You never know when you could use an extra skin,” Thorin murmured and Bilbo glanced up. “Leather isn’t the greatest of covers, but, in a knick of rain or snow, it’s easy to manage.” He would _never_ remember all of this, Bilbo thought to himself as they sat down that evening for some venison. Thorin had come across some wild nuts while taking pictures, and these nuts, they proved to be quite similar to potatoes when cooked. “See you don’t leave them in a stew, like potatoes...”

            And the brothers had seen their places switch; a few nights ago it had been Bilbo, the patient teacher and Thorin the avid learner. Thorin was showing Bilbo the right way to cook these forest nuts as a side. Bilbo chuckled and nodded.

            “We’ll never go hungry, is what you’re telling me?” Though Bilbo knew the answer, it was good to hear Thorin laugh, and agree, a travelers first assumption is that they will starve to death, and that never has to be the case. Their food hearty, and prepped for at least two days before it would go sour, they packed their camp to travel to the waterfall, and find a safe way down.

            There was a steep and narrow incline where they stood some feet from the waterfall, but it wound downwards, curving. Thorin chose that way as the four of them could climb down with little effort, though it was _mostly_ climbing. The brothers went first, eager to reach the bottom and stare up at the waterfall and Bilbo went after. Thorin checked that Bilbo was safe, and when he could pause, he fumbled for his camera.

            That’s when it happened. Stupidly he had reached for his camera, and a lens he had brought slipped from his pack. He had shut his eyes, couldn’t even _scream_ at it’s loss. When all his ears picked up was scrambling rocks and a squeak, he opened his eyes.  Bilbo was _no longer_ upon the path, but holding desperate to it’s edge, his feet tiptoeing on a little ledge beneath- a hand wrapped about Thorin’s lens.

            He couldn’t _believe_ it! He would have stared in wonder had the writer not asked for a _little_ help. Thorin did not reach for the lens, though Bilbo insisted. He grabbed his other arm, and hauled his upper body up to the ledge where Bilbo could swing a leg over and roll to safety. “Try _not_ to drop your most valuable tools, alright?” Thorin had nothing to say, speechless, such an effort had been made, at a near cost of Bilbo- the fall might not have killed him, but he would have been injured far more seriously than any of them could mend.

            “D… Don’t ever do that again,” Thorin growled out, shoving the lens back in, forgoing drawing his camera out. “What if you had fallen?” The change in attitude nearly had Bilbo falling again.

            “I knew I could get it—“

            “And then you nearly fell!” There was such _livid_ anger in his face that Bilbo just shrugged it away and frowned. He climbed down as quickly as he could, wanting nothing more than a great distance between the angered adventurer and himself. When their feet touched ground, Kili and Fili asked if Bilbo had been alright, they saw his slip.

            “A mistake I won’t make the habit of doing again!” He snapped, loud enough for Thorin to hear, but not with those intentions. Kili stepped to go after him, but a heavy hand rested on his shoulder; Thorin.

            “Let him stew,” he murmured, though his brows were equally furrowed and downturned as well. That did not stop the brothers from going to Bilbo but a few moments later as Thorin scoped the rock side and took a few pictures.

            “Bilbo! Are you hurt?” And no, lucky for him the most damage done was by words.

            “I’m fine, Kili,” he had sighed, no use in snapping at them and making this whole adventure something to regret over. “I just… tried to catch your Uncle’s lens and I slipped, he got mad I was… dumb enough to risk my safety for it.”

            “Didn’t he say thank you?” This had been Fili who spoke, and Bilbo groaned.

            “I wouldn’t be mad at him if he had,” He rubbed his eyes. “Shouldn’t we move on, I get the waterfall is pretty and such…” he waved, but the writer had not taken the time to look at it much, broiling in the unfairness of the adventurer’s cold words. _Worry it might have been! But still…_

            “We will camp here for the night,” Thorin spoke over the three of them and they all turned to eye him, Bilbo most warily. “We’ll follow the river down to another town in a few days times.” His eyes glanced to the waterfall. “So pick a spot.” He waved for them to deem a worthy spot so they could set camp.

            Bilbo was not in the habit of holding grudges. And by late afternoon, with a good fire and bit of deer upon it, Bilbo found himself content. He’d even brought out his pipe, though it was merely to have something to do. He didn't actually _have_ any pipe weed. it was to draw something else from his pack.

            What came into Bilbo’s line of sight was something unexpected. A small leather wrapping, with obvious contents within. He looked up and saw Thorin, his pipe was in his mouth, though his expression unreadable. “Here.” He extended the pouch to Bilbo who took it gingerly. “Thought you might… want a smoke.” _Oh._ The pipe was beside him and he glanced to it, and all those fluttery feelings reappeared from when Thorin had gifted the whittled pipe to him. It seemed to over-write his previous anger, made it seem as if it had never happened.

            “Thank you,” Well, he wouldn’t say _no_ at least. He set it aside, for the moment to continue his rooting in his pack when he realized Thorin was still before him. “Um…”

            “I meant to apologize as well,” Thorin took an awkward seat beside him on a log they had rolled towards the fire for a bench. “I didn’t… mean to, snap in such a manner.” He wouldn’t meet Bilbo’s eyes. “I didn’t _want_ a repeat of our time in the mountains…”

            “When I dragged behind,” Bilbo murmured forlornly. Ah, of _course_ that is what that outbreak had been about. Safety. He didn’t _want_ to miss anything more, or waste any more _time_ and quite frankly neither did Bilbo. He hadn’t thought Thorin would still be so concerned with their makeshift schedule, as far as _Bilbo_ was concerned, relaying messages for leaflets of their story could happen whenever they arrived in town. If one was not finished, they’d ask for a message to be sent to delay its release. “It was dumb of me to reach for it, I thought I could catch it.” His shoulders fell, what a great _weight_ had been lifted, and yet he did not feel _better_ for it. “I won’t be foolish again.” He assured Thorin easily, though he wanted an apology for more than just his anger.

            A thank you wouldn’t have been too late. Thorin said nothing more, and so Bilbo tied his pack and stood, taking it back to his tent where he also filled his pipe and sat within, the tent flap open to let the smoke escape as he wrote parts of chapter three.

            Thorin would come to regret not further pestering the writer, for it was not just _himself_ who shared this thought. His nephews were adamant he apologize again, and thank him, he’d saved a lens, and sure it was fool-hardy, but worth gratuity. The following morning from their climb, had Bilbo sketching the waterfall, though it was hardly what it looked like. Merely a bunch of lines running down a page to smudge marks. He’d huffed and tossed the journal aside, he’d decided to just admire the beauty of it.

            When Thorin came beside him, presenting his journal again, Bilbo jumped, catching his heart.

            “Sneaking up on me is _not_ the way to teach me how to hunt,” Thorin chuckled though it was strained, there was obvious tension within Bilbo’s eyes upon seeing Thorin.

            “No, it was mostly for amusement’s sake,” he teased and sat down. “Thank you.”

            “For what?” Bilbo turned, holding his journal and looking at Thorin. The man neither turned or glanced to him, eyes set forward.

            “Getting my lens, when I dropped it yesterday,” Bilbo hadn’t expected Thorin to do such a thing. Apologize. “I shouldn’t have snapped, at least, not in the manner I did.” He swallowed and Bilbo could hear the gulp. “For what it’s worth, I was more concerned with you, than the lens.” And finally gray blue eyes flickered up, a bit worried and…

            Insecure. For all of Thorin’s short-tempered snaps, he’d never seemed unsure of himself, he was always confident. And now? Now he was cornered. Clearly he didn’t apologize before, and clearly, he _wanted_ to make amends, and was _utterly_ fussing with hopefulness.

            “Well, I shan’t do it again,” Bilbo murmured and Thorin began to lower his eyes. “Not because I don’t want too. Just because I’d _rather_ not have every moment of this journey be one of worry and fear for my life.” That smile, it was contagious and Bilbo had to look away, so _brilliant_ it had been. “Anyway, should we get on?”

            “We should,” Thorin stood first and just as Bilbo straightened his legs, a hand came into view. He blinked at it, and looked up to the adventurer who had offered it. Like he _truly_ needed help standing. He did take it though. Was helped to his feet, and Thorin chuckled. “I do mean my apologies and my gratitude, Bilbo. It was uncalled for, and in worry, I yelled instead of—“

            “Thorin, stop,” Bilbo chided happily, though Thorin was about to protest. “All I ever wanted was a thank you for dangling off the side for your lens.” Those blue eyes blinked. “So, you’re welcome, and I won’t risk further injury or go off _leaping_ into danger again. I just… knew your camera was important, it’s not like every person has one, I wanted you to still have it accessible for the trip, it’s the way _you_ see the world. I myself, would flip my lid if someone say… burned my writings. It’s important to you.” Thorin blinked- “So it’s important to me.” He left Thorin slack jawed, and when the brothers came to ask why Thorin was still shooting gaping glances into the back of Bilbo’s head when they set off, well, Bilbo could only smile and say “Your Uncle isn’t used to compliments, let alone acceptance of his behavior.” Though they kept questioning if Bilbo had done more than just give a compliment, the writer would not say.

            They made camp with the city down below in view. It was _large_ too. Though the bustle could not be heard so far within the forest, despite that it seemed within reach. They had made good progress, Thorin admitted, he didn’t expect to have made it so far today. “That’s what happens when you walk on flat ground. It’s easier.” Thorin chuckled, especially when you’re legs _both_ work, he had teased in return. Bilbo went to check upon his ankle, the wounds were healing well, just the edges of scabs still a bit tender. Fili and Kili made themselves _aware_ of such an injury and asked if they could do anything for Bilbo, as he’d cooked nearly every night. “I’m not _crippled.”_ He huffed and poked at their meat and stew. “Honestly, I’m not… _as_ fragile as glass.”

            “Then what?”

            “More like clay,” Bilbo offered and drew his pipe out, and the brothers oogled it.

            “Uncle you did a great job!” Fili said, looking at the designs and Kili wanted to overlook it next.

            “It’s so smooth! Will you teach us how to do this?” Thorin sighed, rolling his eyes. He had tried _once_ and they had lost interest.

            “Give Master Baggins his pipe back,” he murmured. “And if you’re so interested you can make your own.” Bilbo perked, he wouldn’t outright admit it, he wasn’t much of a craftsman, but he was curious of how to make one too. Thorin had caught his straightened back, caught the eager eyes. “You can have an ugly one then, right, Bilbo? Since you did not want to smoke from that one?” Those hazel eyes widened, though they shimmered with hope and excitement, a blush began to fester.

            “Ah, I think I wouldn’t even be able to make one _work,”_ He chuckled. “Let alone _make_ an ugly one.”

            “Uncle’s a good teacher,” Fili assured. “If he can teach Kili, then he can teach you.” Kili though nudged his brother with a huff.

            “That’s alright, Fili’s an awful fisher,” Now it was Fili’s turn to nudge back.

            “Well, I’m you’re both very good at everything you do, differences between you two aside,” They snuggled up pretty close to Bilbo for that evening, all but purring about silly things they did. When their eyes became heavy though, it was Thorin who tutted for them to head off for bed, who helped them stand and guide them to their tent. They all but collapsed within in and Bilbo smiled. “They’re cute, I’ll give them that. They know how to use it against people too.”

            “They always have done _that,”_ he returned and sat beside Bilbo. “Even when they were little, they knew what they could get away with and what they couldn’t, but they did try to push at those boundaries.” Bilbo smiled. “Best thing, honestly, that’s happened to our family though, nothing fazes them.”

            “You’re really fond of them,” Bilbo looked at Thorin and really saw… something different for a moment. Kind eyes, an understanding face, a gentle smile. “I mean, of course they’re family, but, you look after them more than most families do. Of their nephews and nieces.”

            “You see me as father figure?”

            “Of course, I know you don’t have your own, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t do well with kids,” he shivered though, Thorin, sighing.

            “As I said, I’ve not found someone who could contain all of this,” he gestured to all of himself and Bilbo giggled into his hand.

            “Oh, yes, well maybe if you slimmed down, you’d be more manageable?” Bilbo leaned back as if to see what a leaner Thorin would look like. “I mean, people can’t handle all of me, but that’s just personality.” Thorin laughed too. “It’s…” he glanced over his shoulder to the brothers, tucked in bed and humming contently in sleep, Bilbo couldn’t help a fond smile. “I’m sure it not easy. Raising them, trying to… er. You know… deal with their…”

            “You never have told me, if it truly doesn’t bother you,” Thorin switched the subject.

            “It doesn’t,” he looked to Thorin, then to the brothers. “If it did, I would have left a long time ago. It’s still a bit… _queer_ but, it’s genuine. And they hardly seem unattracted to others, they’ve all but groped me in more private areas.” Thorin’s cheek lit with embarrassment, trying to apologize. “No, it’s amusing. I’ve chastised them when they needed it. They’re fine, they won’t see me making a face, regardless. I thought I assured you three of that earlier.”

            “One might say many things before youths,”

            “Then to the old man next to me, they’re fine,” he smiled, reaching to touch Thorin’s shoulder. “Besides, I can’t help but encourage their playfulness, makes me feel less old.”

            “Hardly old looking,”

            “Likewise,” He tutted. “But that doesn’t change I feel old.” They nudged shoulders and smoked for a bit then, Bilbo showing Thorin that he could make smoke rings.

            “You’ll have to teach me,” Thorin was curious, interested.

            “I do not think I could teach you that… er, well,” He scratched his cheek. “It’s the way you blow out the smoke. It’s hard to explain what my mouth is doing…” Bilbo blushed and Thorin chuckled. “Oh and there goes that nice imagery~” Bilbo turned away and Thorin nudged him gently.

            “I’m a _great_ student,” he had purred! There was no other word for it! It was a low rumble that had Bilbo gasping and turning his head with big eyes.

            “You are an _awful_ student if you use those lines on people!” Thorin smirked.

            “That wasn’t what _I_ heard,” Bilbo gave him a mild glare, pushing him back with a shake of his head.

            “Well, I assume you didn’t give them _time_ to hear what they had to say,” Bilbo thought he’d gotten one over on Thorin, for there was a bit of silence between them.

            “No, you’re right,” Bilbo was beginning to grin. “I didn’t give them time, but when they did find their words…” Bilbo glanced over, confident he had still thrown Thorin. “They chose to tell me not to stop.” Bilbo _dropped_ his pipe _straight_ out of his mouth and quickly fumbled to pick it up before it started a forest fire. He fumbled for several long minutes before Thorin reached and steadied his hand to pick up the pipe he could not even _grasp._ “I don’t give the opposition any chance.”

            “I-I s-see that,” Bilbo tutted, snatching his hand then from Thorin’s with a furious blush. “No wonder you’re single, you just _too_ good.” Thorin hummed.

            “Good to know you think so too,” Bilbo was beet red and he rose then, swiftly, stammering out a good night before _marching_ to his bed. It had been a long time since he’d gotten ruffled up, regardless of a serious come on or just for jokes. Thorin however, did not strike him to be the playful type _at_ all until he’d met his nephews. It slowly blossomed, and Bilbo couldn’t stop the thumping in his chest and he laid to his back, grinning. _It’s been too long since I had a friend._

            They made it into the city by nightfall, found a nice little cozy and oddly under-populated inn to sleep at. They had a hearty dinner and mostly, unpacked their things and climbed into warm beds. None of them had anything to retort or complain, even Thorin expressed his desiresto _collapse_ face first into a bed and sleep. They had wanted to reach the city without having to break for camp another night, and found themselves wiped until the next morning.

            Fili and Kili were given tasks to collect foods and such for their journey forward, and he and Bilbo set out to get the writer some warmer clothes, trade in the ones he held no fondness for, and tanned the hide of their buck. It took most of the day, and the brothers met with their Uncle and Bilbo at the inn’s bar, giggling when they had seen their rosy cheeks.

            “And just how many _have_ you two had?” Bilbo wanted to chastise them, to send them off to bed, but they were _far_ more giggly than usual. So they took a corner by a large fire in the pub, and talked of their next trip towards the mountains where they could go through the caves to the other side. Again it was mostly forest and some rocky hillsides but nothing steep like that first mountain range had been. Bilbo relaxed knowing their journey wouldn’t be arduous as before, and Thorin teased him, saying cougars just liked fat.

            “Uncle that’s rude,” Kili hummed over another drink, though Thorin told him that was his last.

            “That is rude though,” Fili added. “Calling Mister Bilbo fat. He’s not fat.” Fili looked Bilbo up and down in the opposite chair, the brothers sitting together on a couch _really_ made for a couple, but… they didn’t mind snuggling up to one another.

            “Yeah, Bilbo’s refined,”

            “Refined?” Bilbo mocked. “It’s far easier staying in this shape, than that shape.” He had pointed from himself to Thorin and the brother giggled.

            “Uncle is in good shape,” Fili commented.

            “We’re in better shape, we’re younger,” Thorin rolled his eyes, and downed his pint before standing, and offering to get Bilbo another. He raised his mug and Thorin took it with a smile. “Do you think we’re in good shape?” Kili sat up and Bilbo laughed.

            “Very good shape, you’re both well off to looking like your Uncle,” they giggled in glee, and continued to do so when Thorin returned.

            “Now what are they laughing at?” Thorin asked, handing Bilbo his mug.

            “Oh they asked if I thought they were in shape, I said they were in great shape, soon they would look like you,” though Thorin’s eyes narrowed slightly, the expression wasn’t readable however.

            “Uncle stays in shape to get the ladies,” Kili quirked his brows and Thorin fell into his chair, covering his face, partially humiliated and annoyed.

            “I stay in this shape to keep them away,” Bilbo had whispered, though he didn’t fail to notice how Thorin dropped his hand at that comment.

            “Mister Bilbo what kind of boys do you like?” Fili perked, alongside Kili.

            “We’ll tell you ours!” What a few mugs of ale could do to such young bodies. Bilbo chuckled and Thorin sighed.

            “That isn’t polite to ask, you two,” he waved.

            “But you called him fat!” Kili said offended they couldn’t know. “Bilbo is our friend, he can tell us! Can’t you?” Kili always seemed _younger_ when he made those large shining eyes _bigger_ , like a pup begging.

            “Oh you know how to get your way,” Bilbo let his cheeks light, but both brothers squealed, wiggled closer together to listen to their _new_ friend. Thorin did too, Bilbo noticed, listen in that is, smiling when Bilbo explained he like Thorin, preferred a _gentlemen._

            “So you like sweet guys?” Kili blushed, playing with his fingers.       

            “I suppose,” he rubbed his neck and jaw, feeling the soft stubble becoming a bit long, long enough to shave. “Do you? Are you two sweet to each other?”

            “Never,” Thorin said. “They’re brothers.” They whined, this was _their_ story! Thorin and Bilbo both laughed as they whined, though clearly it was from the effects of the ales.

            “We do too like sweet!” Kili puffed out. Though very quickly they found themselves snuggled against the couch, curling up.

            “How about you two head to bed?” Bilbo asked, standing, and they whined, tried to say they were old enough to stay up, but when Bilbo offered to tuck them _each_ into bed, they groggily stood. “I’ll be back.” Thorin said he’d keep his spot warm. Bilbo tucked the drunken brothers into the same bed, and undid both their little ponytails. “Sleep.” He blew out a few of the candles and wandered back into the main hall and found Thorin looking over a map. “Come now, there’s ale to be had, and you’re fussing over where to go.” Thorin sighed and began to fold it back up, with great difficulty. “Need a hand?”

            “I’m quite fine,” Bilbo ‘oohed’ softly at the struggling adventurer who folded it wrong before tucking it away. “I just was seeing what the next few towns will be open to us.” He hummed.”Thanks for putting them down.”

            “Mm, it was my pleasure,” and then- “Uh! I just, let me get this off my chest, I need to.” Thorin’s eyes were big but he listened. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I like your nephews, they’re sweet, but I only enjoy teasing them, nothing more. So, I’m not like… into young people. Er, at least not half my age, oh…”

            “I know,” Bilbo sighed _relieved._ “They enjoy your company, and I’m happy you’ve been had.” Though after a few moments _both_ their eyes rounded. “Er, I meant that you’re with us.”

            “I would hardly let myself be had by such youngsters,” this though interested Thorin.

            “No? I thought that was the type you attracted most?”

            “Of course it is, I’m _wealthy_ remember?” He tapped his stomach. “They’re not attracted to my meals.” They laughed. “I’ve dated a few younger people. I just… _can’t._ ”

            “Really? I imagine you to be an adjusting sort,” Thorin leveled him with a glance that had Bilbo shiver.

            “Well I am, usually, but there is only so much I am willing to adjust too,” He tutted. “I like long walks through the vineyards and farmlands behind my home, I also enjoy a good book and relaxation. They want to _explore_ the city or drink the night away at a pub.” He reached for his mug and took a few big gulps as Thorin did the same. “I mean, I enjoy my drink, don’t get me wrong, one too many, and I’m ready for a nap like a babe.”

            “You don’t do anything reckless when drunk?” Thorin tsked softly. “What a drag.”

            “I suppose you enjoy being crazy then?” Bilbo raised a brow. “Come then, what’s something crazy and reckless you’ve done under ale?”

            “I was with a few friends, our first time out, I was really interested in this guy, but there was this girl who was mad for me,” Bilbo hummed, leaning forward, gripping his mug in suspense. “It was… eye opening. I woke with them both in a bed.” Hazel eyes grew tenfold.

            “You had a…!” He looked about and whispered. “A _threesome?”_ his voice squeaked and Thorin’s cheeks darkened.

            “I was young, and drunk,” Bilbo shook his head.

            “I’ve never had one,” he admitted, sipping his ale, and looking down to a near empty mug. “Another round?”

            “When _was_ the last time you went out and drank?” Thorin asked, downing the rest of his ale and handing his cup to Bilbo.

            “How much fun do you really want to poke at me tonight?”

            “Plenty, so give me a good reason,” Thorin grinned and Bilbo sighed. But Thorin gave a poke to his soft side, awaiting an answer the writer grit out.

            “About a year,” He walked off to fetch refills, and returned.

            “A year?” Thorin shook his head. “Well, I guess I can’t make much fun, this is a first in a while as well. At least, feeling more than a buzz.”

            “I can’t help being cozy and old, here I thought when I was a lad, I’d _hate_ living comfortably,” he snuggled in the chair happily. “I’m a big old tom cat, honest.”

            “You _look_ like a big ol’ tom cat,” Thorin muttered into his cup.

            “Sorry, what was that, mister bear?”

            “Bear?”

            “Thorin, really, if I’m a fat tom cat, let’s be honest, you’re a bear,” Bilbo waved to him. “You’re tall, you’re strong and you have a thick mane.”

            “My _hair_ is a _mane_ now?” He laughed, combing a hand into his ponytail with a quirk.

            “Even got a thick beard,” Thorin ran a hand over it. “So a bear suits you best.” Bilbo nodded matter of factly. “I like this.”

            “What?”

            “Travelling,” Thorin blinked. “I didn’t expect too, but, I like it.” He glanced around the pub, his eyes not lingering upon any one individual, though he knew the only reason his gaze would linger was drink. None of them were attractive enough _sober._ “Though we could go with a more attractive crowd.”

            “Well, at least we’re good company,” Bilbo let his eyes slide back over to Thorin, smirking, cocky even, reclined in a large chair.

            “Of course we are,” Bilbo fluffed, but he settled into the chair and hummed, looking off somewhere. Thorin raised a brow.

            “You’re thinking,”

            “I do that,” Bilbo teased. “I was, I was just reminiscing, drinking like a youth. Your nephews won’t have much resistance if they’re out by two.” Thorin sighed to that.

            “Well, they’ll need practice,” he rubbed his brow. “I worry for that. The practicing, they’re wild as it is.” He glanced over to the direction of their room. “Far too much energy. We can’t keep up.” He waved between them and Bilbo agreed.

            “This is why I can’t be with young people,” Bilbo added, leaning forward. “All energy. All fired up to go out and party. Or have sex.” Thorin laughed loudly and Bilbo huffed, standing and moving to couch to sit closer to Thorin. “Hush, or everyone’ll know!”

            “Oh, now we’re sharing secrets?” Thorin smirked. “I don’t have the… _interest_ even to keep going on and on more than once, with young people. I have a hard enough time _getting out_ of bed, what makes you think I could go more than _thrice_ in a day!”

            “You mean…”

            “Yes, _that,”_ he smirked. “Or are you still in working order?” Bilbo’s cheeks darkened.

            “No!” He pouted, then covered his mouth in _stun_ at what he claimed. Bilbo sighed, narrowing his eyes to Thorin with a shake of his head. “I was just making sure we were talking about the same thing. You know, I was with this lad once, perfect really. Sweet, enthusiastic but not at all _tiresome.”_

            “Oh, and where did mister perfect run away too?”

            “He was greedy,” he pointed to himself. “He wanted to spend _all_ our time together, and that’s fine, but I need _a little_ peace to myself.” Thorin agreed, sipping his ale. “Just a bit, enough to bake or read a book.”

            “Bake? My, mind if I move in and be treated to such goodies?” Bilbo chuckled, rapping Thorin’s arm playfully.

            “That’s usually the comment I get, when people find out I am an expert cook,” Thorin grinned. “And no, you may not. You could help~”

            “Ugh, never mind~” Thorin and Bilbo shared a _giggle._ It had to be such, Bilbo couldn’t place the unusually pitchier chuckle that Thorin let out. “But go on, mister perfect wanted in your pants all day.”

            “More or less, it was like he craved the attention,” Bilbo waved his hand. “He didn’t ever want to do anything like take a walk, or see a play or anything, mind you. The attention had to be upon him, and usually with our clothes off.”

            “And how many times did he win?”

            “A fair few, _if_ that is even relevant,” Bilbo shook his head. “He was mad when I broke it off. I mean, who wants to _just_ have sex, that _was_ the relationship.” Thorin sighed _for_ Bilbo. “But, I am far more interested in this _threesome_ you had.” Thorin…

            Thorin had never struck Bilbo as the type to be shy or embarrassed, let alone share much of his personal history unless under drink. But he had done so several times on different occasions, and seeing this large pink streak cross over his nose, and even tip into his ears… Bilbo cooed. “No wonder people think you’re adorable, that blush.”

            “Shut it, pudge,” he reached over, pinched one of Bilbo’s own pink cheeks. “You’ve done the same and I can say that I’m surprised people are not more attracted to that!” Bilbo wiggled.

            “Oh I know I’m cute, but I’m meant to be cute, you’re not the type that’s immediately thought of as cute, so, go on,” he waved his hand encouragingly. “Tell me about it~” Thorin’s blush remained _bright_ as ever. He said it had been a mash of interesting and utterly strange. Men and women were different in bed, and far more different with one another. Obviously love feels the same, but…

            “Well, the actual business of _sex_ was far more intricate than I think we managed,” He rubbed his beard, chuckling. “Not really sure if we even really _satisfied_ the girl, I can’t recall it’s fuzzy.”

            “Oh that good?” Thorin glared playfully. “Oooh, that bad. Well I’ll never have one then, fear of it not living up to my fantasies.” Bilbo beamed and down his drink. “But I like this.”

            “Like what?”

            “Talking,” he giggled.

            “Just talking?”

            “Don’t make eyes at me, Mister Durin,” he met Thorin’s with confidence, a _grin._ “I’m a heartbreaker.”

            “So am I,” their laughter reddened their cheeks more, but Bilbo sunk into the couch a bit then, calming down from the excitement.

            “I meant… talking about these things,” he rubbed his cheek. “I must sound like a love-sick tween, but, I haven’t really talked about any of my relationships before.” He wiggled then, thrilled he had a companion, a friend to do so with now. “I don’t have a lot of friends, honestly, that I can talk to about my, er, relationships, so, I’m happy to have a friend who shares my _line_ of interests.” His eyes flitted up, happy, gleaming, to Thorin…

            Except Thorin didn’t have that same look. His brows had furrowed a bit, he almost looked a bit _confused_ had it not been for his downturned mouth. Oh… had Thorin _not_ been interested in… men? Was he sharing his stories, genderless as they were, with Bilbo because he’d been too forward with his own sexuality? _Oh dear._ He’d gone and overstepped, Thorin hadn’t _ever_ said which he preferred, just that he had both. “W… Well. I um, have clearly had far too much and said too much.” Nervously he tried to stand without looking embarrassed or mortified. His hands trembled as he set down the empty mug. “I’ll retire, now. G… Good night Th…” he caught himself short of saying the adventurer’s name.

            He’d said too much. _Far too much!_ But as he turned, as he paced from Thorin, a hand hooked at his arm. Bilbo winced but did step backwards a few feet, Thorin trying to meet his hazel eyes, but they were downcast.

            “You think of me as a friend?” Bilbo nodded, and then, realizing what he had said, raised his eyes. Sincere. Though a bit muddled without _really_ understanding.

            “Of course I do,” Bilbo fidgeted unable to stand still under such a strong unrelenting gaze. How could he be drunk? “Friendship isn’t about the years shared between people, but the quality in their time together.” Thorin seemed to urge him to continue. “We have a few of the same interests, though I appreciate much of what you’ve shown me. You have done the same, we have the same attitudes about life, we’re settled, and we’re not looking for just a tumble or something grand to set us apart, we’re adults, we’ve come into our own and we can appreciate one another for that.” He teetered on his feet. “So, yes, I consider you a friend. A good friend. There are not many I can say that would enjoy a book of mine so thoroughly nor whittle me a fancy pipe.” His cheeks were _glowing_ so he shut his eyes tight from judgment. Thorin would say something, something to the like of ‘were not friends, but business partners’ or something.

            What he did not expect was the peep of a noise of Thorin _trying_ to speak.

            “Truly,” Thorin smiled. “Gandalf was right about you.” Those worried eyes shot open. “You are one of a kind, and I am grateful to count you among my friends too. I’m… happy to say then, that there is one more thing I can add to a growing list of _similarities_ is our, _interests_.” Bilbo gulped and sputtered a bit; finally, the adventurer admitted he was attracted too, oh what did that even mean? Thorin stood then, eyeing the writer. “One more drink.” He tugged the writer forward, and ordered two drinks and he led them to their room, and together they sat within their main room with the fire, a far more private location than the pub. “You don’t have friends you can talk to? I imagine I cannot be _the only_ one. I myself don’t rank high in number of friendships- but…” Bilbo laughed then, shaking his head.

            “I am the, eclectic one of my friends, so,” He rubbed his neck. “What I talk about is of no interest. At least, not when the topic gets a bit more horizontal.”

            “A shame, I imagine you have plenty of interesting stories,” Thorin smirked.

            “Oh, please, this was a gimmick to get me to reveal what naughty things I’ve done!” Thorin admitted to playing the writer who huffed at him, drinking his ale with a pout. “It does feel nice though.”

            “The naughty things?”

            “Oh Maker, yes Thorin, the naughty things!” He smacked his arm. “I meant this.” He waved between them. “I’ve got a friend who wants to hear about all the dirty bits.”

            “I’m still waiting,” Bilbo gave Thorin another glance, Thorin reaching to tug gently on Bilbo’s shirt sleeve like a child begging for a cookie. But neither had felt so comfortable with another person…

            In a _very_ long time.


	10. Ruska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10: Ruska: n. the phenomenon of leaves turning various shades of red, yellow, purple and brown during the autumn season.
> 
> What comes with time is change, and with change comes realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 10, party on~! I've realized I should have BY NOW added the rest of the company within the story, as that was the original plan... we'll see what I can do, I might not even do it, considering how FAR they are now.
> 
> Oh well! So, it's about autumn now, turning into autumn at least, they spend a great deal wandering in summer and deep into autumn to reach the "Caves" so by the time they arrive it's winter, if you guys are confused :3 I hope you enjoy it.

             **Chapter 10: Ruska**

            They stayed only for a week, talking of their trip, and spending time in the pub, laughing until merriment became exhausting, and even then, Thorin and Bilbo would find time to talk through the nights. Fili and Kili were disappointed when nothing more happened, they were beginning to wonder if this is what “older people” looked like when they flirted, or if they truly just held no desires beyond a good friendship.

            The brothers had been so convinced their Uncle and Bilbo, after returning drunk from the pub, would take a room. That something would happen after speaking of their sexual exploits until the wee hours, drunk and warm by a fire- they had thought they would take advantage of four sturdy wooden walls. The brothers had been so convinced when their Uncle and Bilbo returned the first night, sitting in front of the fire, drinking away, speaking of their sexual exploits that something would happen within the time they remained in a four-wall, secured room. They were thoroughly disappointed. Fall would be upon them by the time they reached the mountain caves, that was too long a time away and quite honestly, the two brothers were impatient.

            Impatient with one another, so one could only imagine the frustration they felt when seeing their Uncle and his Writer interact. Such a slow build up, it had them gnawing at one another’s lips desperately at night, further riled by the lackluster interaction between the two ‘adults’ of their group. Thorin though suspected they were becoming fussy over something though whenever he pestered his nephews, they said it had to be Thorin to figure it out. He decided it was best to leave the subject alone, lest attract his nephew’s attentions.

            Thorin turned to Bilbo, their first night camping in the forest, with reservations about their book. Chapter Three had proved a difficult write for them both, but Bilbo assured Thorin he would catch up. “That is not what I asked.” He smiled and Bilbo paused, drawing his pipe down to stare in question.

            “If you’re asking whether or not the story will be done—“

            “I’m not asking that either,”

            “Thorin, I don’t read minds,” Bilbo huffed, though smiling, putting the pipe back into his mouth. “Despite my keen observations.”

            “That’s a shame,” Thorin tutted. “I thought we would have worked well in Charades.”

            “Please,” Bilbo shook his head, chuckling. “You’re nephews would write something ridiculously… sexual and trying to explain what it is to you would be…”

            “Amusing?”

            “Difficult,” Bilbo corrected. It was then that Fili and Kili returned with what looked bark. Red bark. “What on earth is that?”

            “Bark,” So it was bark. “From birches.”

            “You plucked that from… a tree?” Bilbo blinked, lowering his pipe, then looking to Thorin.

            “Trust me, it’s edible,”

            “I wasn’t asking if it was edible,” Bilbo ruffled then a bit, turning to it. Fili handed him a small handful of the almost stringy like cuttings- a soft spice invaded his nose then. “It… smells nice.”

            “You can eat it, just like that,” Kili chimed in, taking a bit and chewing it before stuffing the rest into a large bag, asking for Fili to bring the rest. It was an odd flavor, but sweet, he felt as though he’d prefer it another way, however. The writer turned to Thorin then who was whittling again.

            “It’s from between the wood and bark of birch trees,” Thorin murmured, without looking up, adjusting his pipe to the corner of his mouth to speak better. “It’s the preferred tree-bark many adventurers and hikers like because it’s sweet, spicy and can be cooked, eaten raw, sundried or made to make a tea.” Bilbo stared at it. “Though I prefer some of the leaves to be in my tea, actually.” Thorin looked about. “When we get deeper into the forest, with the evergreens, I’ll show you another tea.”

            “Do you just eat, right off the land? All the time?”

            “I spent a good many years, living on the land,” He added and smoothed an edge before setting his tool and new pipe down. “I try to learn as much as I can from locals, though I very rarely eat their… strange recipes, sometimes it upsets the stomach and—“ He chuckled. “Digestion.” Bilbo scrunched his nose to that, but nodded. “If you mean, do I eat whatever I see, whenever I need it? Close to it. I’ve never been desperate enough in a situation to eat a bug, though I did try them, my very first time out.”

            “When you fell?”

            “When I was lost, yes,” Thorin chuckled. “It wasn’t a dry… well I suppose it is a dry landscape, very rocky, but during spring it’s practically tropical.” He took a bit of the birch back into his hand that Bilbo still had leftover. “I went of course, during the beginning of fall, where the summer sun had dried much of the water. Roots were around to replenish hydration, and bugs to strengthen the body.” He shivered. “First bug was just… strange.”

            “Crunchy?”

            “In an… odd sort of way, not like a chip or, crispy meat,” he rolled his tongue along his teeth. “Though tasty. The people there, in appetite at least, ate much like the large predators, if they were omnivorous.”

            “We’re not… going to eat bugs… are we?”

            “Maker, no,” Thorin waved as Fili and Kili came with a pot to start dinner. “We have plenty to eat without.” They were going to make a soup from what they had collected, adding water they had boiled earlier and dropping in slices of goose they had bought in town. “Watch.” He inclined his head to the brothers, and Bilbo turned. He set his book down and went to watch, just as he was told. They dropped in a few spices, leaves mostly that Bilbo felt like he would recognize if he was standing in his garden. They cut the reddish bark into halves, sprinkling it about halfway through the cooking of the stew. Bilbo perked. The sauce thickened, though not by a lot, until…

            “Blueberries?” Bilbo looked to Fili and Kili, then to Thorin, who raised his head.

            “Thickens the soup,” Fili smiled.

            “Gives us some vitamins,” Bilbo was not sure how any of that would taste, but, they wouldn’t always have certain delicacies he thought. When served, Bilbo was surprised, the smell was spicy with a sort of herby hint, wafting deliciously. When he tried to soup and ‘noodles’ he was…

            “Wow,” Bilbo hummed. It was a herby, slightly sweetened but… “This is really good.” The brothers perked and Thorin smiled, and continued with his meal. “All of this came right out of the forest?”

            “Well, save the goose,” Bilbo shrugged, and knew that much…

            “I want to know what you guys do,” He looked to Thorin though, knowing whatever the brothers had learned, they had learned from their Uncle. “If… if you’re not too busy… would you show me? Even if we’re just wandering towards the mountain caves?” Thorin paused, and glanced up, surprise evident upon his features. There was never a moment Thorin thought he would have to share such wild-eating habits because Bilbo was not ever going to travel again. Perhaps he had thought Bilbo would never be interested. His nephews caught his attention, nodding their heads to Bilbo; a hint. Kili finally mouthed for Thorin to say ‘yes dammit’ and Thorin rolled his eyes- he knew what they were up too, at least, partially.

            “Sure, when we’re out, I’ll show you along the way,” Bilbo smiled happily. “You’ll have to do some of the work for it though, I won’t do it all.”

            “That’s fine,” as if working would make Bilbo say no. He was far more excited about it then perhaps Thorin’s nephews had been. Not that he’d ever get lost in the woods, or need any of this information… it brought him closer.

            Though Bilbo wasn’t sure whom he needed to be closer with nor why it was exciting.

            The next several days took all of Bilbo’s restraint to not grin with delight or excitement as Thorin showed him what plants were edible. Berries he thought to be just for the animals, that no one just plucked mushrooms, and that young evergreens in spring made the best Spruce tea, or even a refreshing nibble in the morning. Obvious things such as a variety of berries, and leaves could be plucked and washed and eaten without any preparation. Bilbo thought he could become fat just living right out here, no matter if Thorin and his nephews were in shape, Bilbo could live content out in the woods with food at his fingertips. Literally.

            It was all Bilbo could do but pluck several things, showing the brothers what he’d learned, and they were more than excited to encourage Bilbo to find more or teach him tricks to preserving certain clipped leaves and berries. They showed him the best way to sundry foods, the fastest way to pluck berries and get the whole berry and seeds.

            Bilbo never thought he’d have no issues being dirty, having dirt below his fingernails bothered him, but he did not fuss immediately. Sweat beaded as they hiked, but he did not complain unless it fell into his eyes, and he finished chapter three, sketching different plants, the landscape they were in; giant trees reaching for the clouds, and shrubs decorating the bounties of mother earth. He was washing his hands in the small stream they had discovered earlier that day when Thorin came upon him. Bilbo jumped when Thorin broke a twig below his shoe and the writer squeaked. “Maker, Thorin, a ho Bilbo wouldn’t kill you would it?” His heart hammered and Thorin chuckled.

            “What age are you in that I must hail you?” Thorin chuckled, kneeling down to rinse his own hands of blood from their recent kill.

            “You scared me!”

            “I have that effect,” Bilbo rolled his eyes, splashing some of the water up at Thorin’s face. “Oh, how mature.”

            “I thought there was dirt on your face,” Bilbo hummed. “It turned out to be your beard.”

            “At least I have an excuse, why is your face dirty?”

            “I fell earlier, coming down the slope,” Bilbo chuckled, bowing down to rinse his face.

            “You’re alright?” A hand lifted his chin, though after they realized how Thorin’s calloused hand was holding Bilbo’s face, their cheeks reddened,and both turned away, chewing their lips. “My nephews treated you? For wounds?”

            “It was soft dirt,” the writer looked down the stream, cheeks enflamed. “I was just bit breathless. I’m fine.” His eyes tentatively glanced over and Thorin was just… gazing at his hands in the water. “Have you um…” he gulped. “Have you always worked hard, with your hands?” Thorin looked up, almost innocently.

            “When I was younger, no, but when I ventured out for the first time, I learned I could not keep up such, proper things as smooth skin, out in the wilderness,” He waved and Bilbo chuckled. “Why?”

            “Just,” Bilbo scratched his cheek. “Wondering. I expected them to be a lot, tougher than that.” He reached and took one of Thorin’s hands, fingerprints visible from the dirt packed in from years of travelling and work. They did not make impressions when pressed against, they remained smooth and round, and Thorin raised his eyes to meet Bilbo’s. Well, he would have, had the writer been looking at him.

            Hazel eyes were transfixed upon his single paw, so he sat back and let the writer inspect to his heart’s desires. Bilbo’s hand were smooth, though not as soft as he had expected; he must have done some work, or tended that massive garden Thorin remembered seeing. He had a wine business!

            “You’re hands are not as soft as I expected,” Thorin admitted then, though Bilbo still did not meet his gaze. “For a man holed in his comfortable home.”

            “I garden,” Bilbo murmured, then their eyes met. “A few times during the summer, I stay at certain vineyards I own, and help with the wine making. Usually to ensure quality and richness.” Bilbo blushed then, dropped Thorin’s hand. Bilbo hadn’t realized he had spent so much time fondling over his hand until Thorin had made himself present again in Bilbo’s mind. He rubbed his hands together then stared back at Thorin. “I’m not soft like a lass Thorin.” He shook his head with a smirk and Thorin laughed, leaning back towards the stream to wash his face then.

            “I was not thinking that,” he straightened, wiping the cool water from his face, smirking. “Though I wonder where you are untouched from life.”

            “Nowhere,” Bilbo tutted, standing himself and Thorin laughed.

            “Nowhere, is there no little untouched spot? Truly?” Bilbo nodded. “No virgin flesh left?” Bilbo’s cheeks reddened and he gave a shove to Thorin’s shoulder with a huff. “You had many inquisitive lovers then?”

            “Oh, and you have a virgin spot u-upon your body so-somewhere?” Thorin smirked, but he had stood then too, and nodded. “W-Wha—I don’t believe you!”

            “Oh I do!” he exclaimed- “Honest, Master Baggins, there are places that have been left unscathed, untouched.”

            “I would ask where, but that would be indicative of you being allowed the same question to be asked,”

            “I would ask, regardless,” Bilbo rolled his eyes, turned back towards camp, seeing the brothers roasting quail upon the fire, cooking something or another in a pot. “So, where?” Bilbo sighed, no he could not offhandedly think of a place his body had not been touched. He liked hands exploring, regardless of their ventures but—“Come now, don’t be shy.”

            “Yeah, don’t be shy!” Kili giggled. “What are you two talking about anyway?”

            “Where I’m virgin!” Bilbo shouted and then- “Er… um… oh Maker, I said that aloud…” he let his hand wash over his face as he heard Fili and Kili begin to giggle. “Oh!” He turned. “You can’t laugh!” He pointed to the three of them, Thorin peering up over a small rag, having to dry his face.

            “Where!” Kili and Fili cheered.

            “I’m a gentleman, and I’m…” his cheeks darkened under a particular gaze, his jaw tensed. Fili and Kili noticed the glance towards their Uncle, nudging one another with a beam. “I’m a romantic, first.” He sighed, begrudgingly sat down with a groan. “I… I suppose the only place I would be particularly unmarred or untouched is…” he… tapped his chest.

            “No one has touched your chest?” Kili stroked Fili’s chest, as if that could somehow impart to Bilbo. “That’s odd, that’s the first place—“

            “Oi, he’s not talking about his chest!” Fili slapped Kili’s hand then. “He’s talking about his heart.”

            “You’ve never let anyone love you Mister Boggins?” Kili stood then and Thorin was the one to push him back down to sit.

            “I’ve let plenty of people try,” Bilbo raised his hands. “I’ve uh… okay I wrote this a lot when I was younger. Giving the heart away to someone is a sign of complete trust. Sometimes it gets broken when you give it away and I’ve…” He groaned. “I never wanted to give it to anyone.” He rubbed his neck. “No one stayed long enough to take it anyway either.” Thorin paused when he had turned to his tent, eyes falling to Bilbo. He was surprised the man wasn’t... who wasn’t…

            Shy about admitting that. He seemed content even, happy to have someone to tell this to.

            “You really are a romantic,” Thorin chuckled.

            “I said no laughing,” Bilbo pointed. “I already have five guesses as to where you’re a virgin,” Fili and Kili leaned forward as if expecting good gossip. “Besides.” He blushed happily. “I’m sure my wishes will come true.”

            “Maker,” Thorin groaned. “Wishes? With an untouched heart? My, but you are truly hoping for a Prince Charming!” Thorin stepped into his tent to draw out his pipe and the other one he had been whittling away before. He emerged back outside to sit beside Bilbo. “Do you also expect rose petals to fly in the wind when he walks up to sweep you off your feet?”

            “If I said I did?” Bilbo giggled back. “I know I’m a romantic. I’m old, I have to look forward to something new.”

            “Out of all the times you’ve tumbled it is romance that you look forward too?” Thorin offered his pipe-weed to Bilbo who snatched it with a grunt.

            “Well, it might be nice,” Bilbo murmured. “I can’t imagine there are many people out there that wouldn’t enjoy finding someone perfect for them. “ He stuffed his pipe and made a face- “Can’t say you would pass up the chance to be with a lovely dame or gent- one that would swoon at your glance and love you for everything that you are?”

            “Alright,” Thorin laughed then, lowering his eyes as he stuffed his pipe. “Having someone I could relate too, sure. I doubt I have that sort of capability anymore. To swoon at my glance is a thing I would have expected more within my younger years.”

            “Then you just haven’t been looking in the right places,” Bilbo smiled widely. Fili and Kili were the ones to look up first, to notice that the jibe might have been applying to Bilbo himself. Though he made no further motions or hints, the brothers cleared their throats to get their Uncle’s attention as… slyly as possible.

            When he finally rose serious eyes, they nodded to Bilbo again and Thorin glanced ove—

            He’d seen the writer red a fair amount of times. Enough to know when it was embarrassment or with remembrance of lovers, he’d even seen them light in arousal.

            “Perhaps I need sharper eyes,” Thorin said after a moment, smirking to himself. “If I have not seen these swooning people.”

            “I have glasses,” Bilbo murmured, standing as he lit his pipe. “Should you need them.”

            “Is that how you’ve seen so many things I have not?” For a moment Bilbo stood still, looking at Thorin as if… questioning his very soul. It was a gaze Thorin had never been subject too before; deep, probing, almost invasive, but he would not look away.

            The writer was looking for something.

            If he found it or not, Thorin realized Bilbo might have been a better fibber than he gave him credit for.

            “I’ve got an eye for that sort of thing, after all, I’m a writer,” Bilbo began to turn to his tent. “A romance novelist, to be acquainted with such, one must see more than themselves.” He reached his tent and retrieved his journal, and returned, sitting beside Thorin once more. “And I’ve had plenty of experience with wooing, and being wooed, both successfully and unsuccessfully.”

            “Then you will give me warning when it’s unsuccessful?” Bilbo huffed.

            “If you need to ask, then it’s worth noting that you’re doing it wrong,” Thorin found his mouth going dry, and he stood for some water, but could not retake his seat beside Bilbo as… easily as he might have. He was not even sure what that whole conversation had been about! He stroked his beard as he checked the food several times, making Fili fluff and push him away, insisting he knew how to cook dinner just fine.

            With dinner served, Thorin had to retake his seat, and was forced by his nephews to retake it by Bilbo, who had not seemed to notice whatever emotional conflict Thorin had been going through. He set his journal aside and took the bowl with a smile and looked to Thorin happily before eating. When the brothers had excused themselves to clean the plates, pots and pans, they made eyes at Thorin to talk to Bilbo who had just leaned over and asked if Thorin thought a particular part of the story made sense.

            He listened carefully to Bilbo, with not an ounce of anger or upset, or even hurt. He said it was fine, he liked where Bilbo had been leading the story.

            “Do you really think that if I didn’t know I was making someone swoon, or that I couldn’t see it, that I shouldn’t ask?” Bilbo blinked and looked up to Thorin, stunned.

            “What—no nonsense!” he huffed then, rolling his eyes. “Of course you should ask! Especially if you think the other person is responding to your flirts. If they are completely unresponsive, that’s when it’s hopeless.” Bilbo gave Thorin a nudge. “Geez.” He shook his head—

            “They don’t work on you,” the silence became deafening. Bilbo swallowed and was acutely aware that Fili and Kili were not present. “Should I ask then, if it is merely you playing hard to get, or unresponsive and wish for me cease such attempts?”

            “You aren’t…” He stared at Thorin. “You’re pulling one over on me…” it wasn’t a question and Thorin began to smirk. “You… you aren’t.” He glanced to the fire. “W… well um…”

            “I am, pulling your leg, I am curious if they are working though,”

            “Ugh, Thorin, you are an awful human and no they aren’t working!” Bilbo thumped Thorin’s arm with his journal. “Have you always thought little of those awful come ons?” Thorin gasped.

            “Maybe I wanted a personal opinion,” and for a long while Bilbo remained silent as the sound of wood being carved began to echo in his ears- the crunching of drying leaves told Bilbo the brothers were returning—

            “Then I would have to say, despite their cheesy and sometimes young-sounding attempts, they are endearing and incredibly sweet,” Bilbo managed in a hoarse voice. “And… whoever you use all those corny lines on should feel enamored they’ve garnered more than just a nice body.” Thorin turned, hands lowering to his lap. “But a kind soul too.”

            “Here I thought I was the one doing the teasing and seeing how I could rile you up,” Thorin chuckled and Bilbo glanced over, seeing his head dip, he was… bashful! His smile was innocent, his cheeks were rosied up, even his ears tinged pink. “When those come on’s don’t work, I’ll have to ask for more romantically sound advice then?”

            “If you even manage to get that far~” Bilbo tutted with a smirk and saw the return of the brothers, who looked between their Uncle and writer with eagerness, but Bilbo nudged Thorin to not look so enthused. He watched their shoulders sink and chuckled. They remained dour for sometime before Fili and Kili sighed and said they were going to bed. Thorin and Bilbo started to laugh and Bilbo shoved Thorin, half falling over the adventurer- the brothers ceased, glaring in confusion at the sight of their Uncle writhing in laughter, let alone at them!

            “W-What is so funny!” Kili finally shouted and Fili sighed, tugging Kili back a bit, frowning though too.

            “You’re faces,” Bilbo stood, wiping his eyes of tears. “You two are so upset.”

            “Of course we’re upset! You two never seem to get on with one another!”

            “You could cut that tension with a knife!” Fili added, growling at Bilbo who had brought them close.

            “Well, I’ll have you know,” he leaned forward and they did too. “I like your Uncle very much.” He whispered and Thorin perked, hearing his name, but nothing more. “Alright? we just wanted to see your faces drop if we hadn’t had the right conversation.”

            “You~!” Kili grabbed Bilbo’s shoulders. “You tricked us!” He gave Bilbo a jostle when the writer began to laugh again, holding his wrists.

            “Of course we did, do you think us not only old, but blind to your goading?” Fili had the decency to look a bit ashamed and embarrassed, but Kili was just utterly disappointed for being tricked.

            “Uncle! You were in on this too?” He pleaded and Thorin nodded, only smirking widely now.

            “Do you think I have not raised you since you two were babes, that I am so enthralled in this story to not see my own kin?” he snorted. “You’re starting to sound like your mother.” He raised his eyes then. “I am well aware of both of your own jibes.”

            “A… aware?” Fili’s eyes owled. “O-Oh… so… you both know.”

            “Of course we both know,” Bilbo rested his hands upon his hips. “Like I haven’t been around that street more times than you are in years.” Kili and Fili then got this very… curious grin upon their faces and… giggled. Said they should really go to bed then, since their plans were known, they could you know, be left to their own devices.

            When they tucked themselves into their tent, Bilbo and Thorin were a bit confused as to what had just transpired. “I know they have been trying to get us to talk more but… I think… I think we’ve been duped.”

            “Good I am not the only one,” Thorin’s eyes settled on Bilbo and it was like it was the first time he was really seeing Bilbo. Cheeks red from merriment, firelight putting a beautiful orange glow about him, his hair a bright golden chestnut… and his hazel-green eyes glimmering with curiosity and glee, mixed in a with a bit of confusion. His mouth parted, and just for a moment, Thorin thought he knew exactly what his nephews had been insinuating.

            Bringing them together, Thorin and Bilbo.

            Thorin was still staring when Bilbo smiled, shrugging.

            “I guess we’ll just have to see what we’ve been duped into,” Bilbo combed a hand into his curls, drawing his journal back up. “Though, I don’t think we should ever let them have alcohol when we have alcohol.”

            “And I am glad we think so much alike,” that smile itself seemed to be a hotter flame than any Thorin had ever felt before, his cheeks dark, though happy the writer did not comment upon it. “I am glad.”

            The journey through the forests proved to be both revealing for Bilbo and an experience he could never be able to explain to another without sacrificing so much. The crisp cool morning air and how it entangled into his hair, or how the howls of wolves at night moving could bring such a warmth into your heart or appreciate nature for all it’s simple gifts.

            They had caught paw prints, well, Thorin had been the one to pick upon them first, noting there were three sets- a mother bear and her cubs. They were downwind, and would not be detected and Bilbo was urgently trying not to see such a sight, one did not have to witness every large animal! Thorin assured him as best he could but it was when Thorin climbed upon a flat rock and waved for them to join that Bilbo was assured.

            Seeing the mother bear eating berries in the distance and seeing the two cubs rolling back, growling and cooing happily. Bilbo could have watched the family of bears all day, the cubs half climbing trees as they played tag, or tackling their mother who give them a gentle swipe her large paw, rolling them away. Thorin had captured many photos, turning to Bilbo to ask how he felt now…

            But seeing his mouth hanging open in awe, Thorin thought it best to let Bilbo appreciate the moment and not tease. “Worth it?” He whispered and Bilbo squeaked a noise out, before biting his lips and nodding. They slid down quietly, giddy at their bear sighting. It was all Fili and Kili could talk about and Bilbo was far more introspective about it until that evening when Bilbo revealed what he had in mind- skinchangers! A bear skinchanger! What if he was the last of his kind, and he aids the company, or what if they were living peacefully, and travelers come to them asking for aid through the mountains! Thorin found Bilbo’s energy and excitement contagious.

            A few weeks from then, they came upon a wolf pack, not hunting, though they perked with their large ears, knowing they were there. Thorin told them all to remain still as the wolves seemed to be judging whether the four men wandering the wilderness were game, hunters, or worth their time. They barked and yipped to one another and Bilbo slumped against Thorin who chuckled. “See that large one there, the gray one.” Bilbo nodded. “He’s the alpha male.”

            “Leader of the pack?” Thorin nodded.

            “See that one, the whitish one?” Bilbo peered and nodded again. “That’s his mate. With wolves, they will mate but once. Should their mate die, the other is sometimes said to relinquish their title, or even die just to join their mate.” Bilbo’s mouth parted in awe, a sight Thorin was becoming quite familiar with. He’d never felt enthusiasm for explaining discoveries about the wilds to anyone before, they had never seemed fascinated or interested for that matter.

            But Bilbo was always fascinated and interested. Always wanted to know more. He explained to Bilbo that when they get to the mountain cave, that it will be significantly colder, already being mid-autumn. That when they pass through and travel between the towns there, as they head north, it will grow far colder.

            “Will it snow?”

            “I am hoping we can catch a few days of fresh snow, in between our travelling,” Bilbo shivered at that idea. That- or he had shivered for the quick chill that had begun to crisp the leaves of the forest.

            “Should we sell one of the tents? Conserve heat and rid ourselves of excess supplies?”

            “Becoming a wee traveler already?” Bilbo blushed, huffing though. “We should. I had not considered that, but if it proves to be cold enough and it might very well turn freezing.” Bilbo hummed. “I will make sure you remain warm this winter, little bear.”

            “I do not gorge, Mister Durin, for winter,” Thorin eyed him then.

            “Could have fooled me,”

            “You called me fat again!” Bilbo roared, but there was no real bite to the words. Just shock.

            “Uncle, if we can’t tease him about his horizontal adventures, why can you call him fat?” Kili groaned. “You two’ve been witty-bantering this entire time!” Bilbo turned and walked with Kili.

            “Don’t call me fat, and I’ll talk to you all day,” Bilbo groaned and Thorin sighed.

            “What, you won’t speak with me?” Thorin had turned, walking backwards with a grin. Bilbo waved his hand simply and Fili gasped.

            “I don’t think he wants to talk to you, Uncle,” Fili chuckled.

            “Wound me so,” Bilbo gaped.

            “Don’t call me little bear!” Bilbo sneered- “Calling me fat, you’re the bear here!” Fili and Kili laughed then, agreeing their Uncle was like the mother bear they had seen weeks prior, strong and easily able to knock over her young and control them.

            “Hey,” Thorin tried to interject, but Bilbo had turned his nephews against Thorin, asking if Uncle Thorin could carry them because he was so strong. Or if he could really hold them both back with just a push. Thorin groaned and walked ahead, but Bilbo was giggling and for some other odd reason…

            That made Thorin happy, a fuzzy little feeling that blossomed whenever Bilbo was happy.


	11. Dérive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dérive: n. lit. “drift”; a spontaneous journey on which the subtle aesthetic contours of the landscape and architecture subconsciously attract and move the traveler, encountering an entirely new and authentic experience [wordstuck.co.vu]
> 
> There is more than landscapes and scenery that attract the adventurer to the writer, it's just a bit difficult rounding the hurdle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! Chp 11! And YA FOR 1500 HITS. <3 Much love- I waited especially long, didn't I? Alright, so my NEXT challenge for you!
> 
> 2000 Hits! It's just a measly 500 hits more than what you have going for you. If you do that, I'll have Teacher!Bilbo step up to the plate and assist the young brothers.
> 
> However, if you give me say, 2100+ hits (the higher the more devious I'll feel) I will write a sort of "alternate" universe of the relationship(s) between Bilbo, Thorin, and Fili and Kili- perhaps a wee threesome? Obviously, it wouldn't be "directly" related to this story, but set in this plot, with an obvious twist that Bilbo is weak for younger men keke. That's only if it goes beyond 2100+ I don't want to stray Bilbo from the plot I have going too much, but since they are "one shots" without necessarily being "directly related" I MIGHT feel inclined to break that for you :3 Obviously, I work well with comments too. Better, actually!
> 
> Have Chapter 11! Danger on the Horizon!

             ** **Chapter 11: Dérive****

            A month into fall had brought them upon the sight of the mountains, and the expansive city that lay before the caves that tunneled through those mountains. Bilbo was breathless, for another uncountable time. He had gripped Thorin’s jacket with a gasp, though stepped forward from their ledge as if it would grant him a bigger or closer view. Thorin smiled at such a gesture and still amazed he could find someone still so _awed_ by simple things like _sightseeing._

            It took another week before they reached the shadow of the mountains, the town was a large city, filled with carriages lining up and down the streets. “This is one the largest cities, in the North.”

            “I’d say _anywhere_ ,” Bilbo murmured. “Bigger than Bree, right next door to me.”

            “Come now, _Bree_?” He tutted, though Bree was quite large in comparison to the quaintness of Shire, it had nothing against this bustling _city._ “This is Dale.”

            “They have the finest furs,” Kili added. “Since they live so close to the forest, _and_ to the mountains, their trade booms with furs! Well.” Fili and Kili eyed some white furs at a shop.

            “Other cities in the North have better quality, but Dale would have _every_ thing,” Bilbo nodded, though most of the things he’d seen seemed _far_ too ordinary. Or perhaps they were just made in excess, to fit style or demands. He’d have much preferred something unique, though they were not picky. Thorin had found a nice inn, tucked away out of the market district that was toasty and welcoming. They planned to sell much of their lighter wears for more thicker materials. They’d need to have better insulators and lamps. Though they did not shop that day.

            The four of them found dinner around the corner at a meadery, salted pork and vegetables steaming on their plates, potatoes and some ham too. It was a meal fit for a king and his men; and Bilbo enjoyed _every_ bite. They were all content as they returned to the inn, finding comfort in relaxing before a warm fire. They retired early, excited for the road before them.

            Bilbo was drafted by Kili and Fili to help them root through their things and sell what was not needed. Bilbo eventually parted with Chapter three that day as they had sold what they didn’t need. Bilbo had passed it to a friend of Gandalf, though Bilbo wasn’t sure how they knew of one another, he was given a letter from his publisher. He was surprised. It had been there for a week he had said. Bilbo returned after reading it, capturing Thorin who had been preparing a list of things they needed for the winter.

            “Gandalf says the first two chapters are doing well!” Bilbo said, laying out the few pages of parchment for Thorin to read, chest filling with pride as he stood over Thorin’s shoulder, rereading the notes. “You’re book is getting _fans_.”

            “Our book,” Thorin glanced up and Bilbo lowered his eyes to meet Thorin’s.

            “Alright, _ours,”_ he sighed, but did let a little blush fester upon his cheeks. “I can’t wait to see what they think as the story progresses! I’ll have chapter four ready by the time we clear through the tunnels, I’m sure.”

            “You don’t need to rush,” Thorin squeezed his arm fondly.

            “I’m not rushing, just… excited!” Bilbo argued and wiggled a bit, smiling. “I want to see it done, I want fans to squeal when we don’t give them what they want!”

            “You are a cruel author,” Bilbo laughed as he took a seat beside Thorin grinning. “I’m a bit… speechless.”

            “Why, because people like it?”

            “No,” He waved, lowering the letter. “Because you’re thrilled for it, about as excited as I am.” His smile… Thorin’s smile was soft and timid, and Bilbo leaned forward a bit, trying to return it.

            “You signed me up, and this isn’t just some façade, I _am_ thrilled to be writing it,” He looked down at his fumbling fingers. “So, I’m a fan myself.” He stood then- “A-Anyway, I should go… do something.” He stumbled off and Thorin called him, Bilbo turned.

            “Thank you for coming, then,” He gave Bilbo a heartfelt smile, one that even Bilbo could see was difficult for the adventurer to do. It wasn’t in his nature to _show_ much feelings, and when he did it was hard for him.

            “Thank you for showing up at my house,” He grinned in return. “I wouldn’t have followed if you didn’t come yourself.” Their third day in town, Fili and Kili were given a list of things to pick up with Bilbo, and…

            Most of it were clothes for the writer. “C-clothes?”

            “Well, it’s going to get snowy, where we’ll be heading,” Fili looked to the mountain peaks. “Pretty soon too. This fall here is a bit chillier than usual.” Kili shivered a bit.

            “True, so we have to make sure we’re all snuggled and warm,” Kili winked to Bilbo and the writer rolled his eyes, linking arms with the youngest brother.

            “Well, you two will keep me warm, won’t you?” He tucked his other arm around Fili’s as they both laughed and the three of them walked to the various stores, looking for the best deals and bartering for the best items. They clad Bilbo in deep colored furs and clothes, he looked best in the brighter colors, greens and golds, reds and browns. Clothes in carts and bags, they had finished their clothing run for the day, having already picked up Thorin’s clothes as well. “There is so much… fur.” Bilbo had been petting one of the overcoats for himself.

            “You’ll enjoy it later,” Fili added. “Especially when sprawled against them~”

            “Yes, you’d be surprised how lovely furs feel against naked skin~” Kili teased and Bilbo sighed, though his cheeks did darken at such thoughts.

            “A-And why do you two expect me to be naked upon m-my furs?” They giggled, but said nothing, linking their arms again with the writer, finding a small shop with a few treats, some salted strips of pork, that tasted lovely over sweet fruits. They bought enough to share with Thorin, and returned just as he had entered as well with several tools and nodded to them.

            “Ah they did have these,” Thorin had rooted through the clothes, coming across a particular set of clothes Bilbo was unsure why they needed. Thorin had caught those hazel-green eyes scoping him and Thorin smiled. “These provide insulation. Like another layer of… fat if you will, like animals have during the winter season. It maintains body heat, not allowing outside extremes to affect it much.” He offered it to Bilbo who felt it, humming. “Trust me, we will probably be needing them.” Though Bilbo seemed to tremble at the words.

            Thorin stilled, taking his hand as it shivered in his grasp. Bilbo shot his eyes up and shakily drew his hand back. “You alright?”

            “I’m fine,” Bilbo said with an encouraging smile. “Just… a bit nervous.” He admitted, though Thorin knew there was more, he could tell the way Bilbo’s eyes darted about with worry. Thorin reached though, squeezed his shoulder and those big eyes flicked back up to Thorin’s.

            “I promise you won’t have to worry,” he tried to assure, tugging on the clothing still in Bilbo’s grasp. “I’m taking extra precautions. I heard the winter might be harsh, so, try _not_ to worry?” He turned back to sorting through their clothes, checking off a list he had stashed in his pocket. Bilbo smiled and went to slice the melons they had for a snack later.

            He wrote for the rest of the day, tucked at the fireplace, curled in several different positions to finish most of chapter four. Fili and Kili had taken some of the fresh salted pork and melon to their room and bid Bilbo a goodnight. Bilbo glanced up to the window, the dark skies telling him it had been late. He collected his journal and fetched some of the melon and salted meat before turning towards his and Thorin’s room.

            The adventurer was writing something down, checking something in his bag before he greeted the writer. Bilbo set his journal beside Thorin, offering him the melon and meat.

            “It’s good,” he encouraged and Thorin sighed, pausing in his writing to eat.

            “Always trying to fatten us up,” Bilbo chuckled and he looked off but otherwise the two did not speak for some time.

            “Thorin,” the adventurer hummed, but when Bilbo did not respond, Thorin raised his eyes. That jittery nervousness had resurfaced clear upon Bilbo’s face.

            “You’re worried for something more than just mere nerves,” Bilbo blushed.

            “Ah~ so you’ve picked up some of my perception skills,” Thorin chuckled, but he waited patiently; if Bilbo would tell him, then he’d listen, and if not, he’d always be waiting to listen. “Do you think it will snow? A lot? I mean… like freezing?” Concerned for snow?

            “I suspect it will, though, I do not think the temperatures will drop too awful much,” Thorin adjusted in his chair. “I do think there will be a few days where all we do is sit in our tents or at camp around a fire, and gorge. Down some brandy and then retire.” Bilbo laughed and that helped him relax, so Thorin scooted a bit closer. “Whatever it is you fear about going back out there, I promise I will take care of you.” Bilbo’s cheeks lit bright red. “I was careless and wrong to not take you into consideration when we first were travelling together.” He took a breath- “I won’t make that mistake again.” He wrapped his arm around Bilbo who looked up at him then- they were close, their shoulders touching and now with his arm about his back, it only brought the writer closer. “Though with cheeks that red, I suspect I will be the one asking to use _you_ as a hot water bottle.” Bilbo’s cheeks darkened until his ears twinged pink.

            “H-Honestly, I was trying fo-for comfort~” Bilbo teased, but truly, he felt comforted, and didn’t shrug out of Thorin’s arm either.

            “When it definitely drops in temperature, we’ll just share a tent, it will help keep the two of us warmer,” He squeezed Bilbo’s other shoulder, making the writer squeak. “You don’t like snow, do you?” Bilbo shook his head.

            “I’m not a winter person, obviously, I guess I am like a little bear,” Thorin smiled though when Bilbo glanced over.

            “I don’t hold it against you, Master Baggins,” he assured. “Trust me, alright? Even a little bit. I won’t be foolish with another life in my hands.” Bilbo blushed and shoved Thorin lightly but it did not jostle that arm from his shoulder. In fact, the shove only made Thorin draw closer and… Bilbo gave in a bit.

            Falling lightly against his arm, relaxing. It was the oddest thing Bilbo had ever done.

            Sitting in a chair beside a friend, someone he cared for, and just _snuggled_. For lack of a more appropriate word. Thorin reached for the fruit and slice of meat, content to sit there and eat until Bilbo was satisfied he was better or felt safe. Bilbo had never expected Thorin to allow such a long time to pass, never moving his arm out or clearing his throat, just quietly eating and sitting beside Bilbo.

            “You’re…”

            “I’m what?”

            “I don’t know,” Bilbo huffed then, straightening a bit, turning to face Thorin who was smiling sleepily. “Amazing. Or really foolish to have brought me along. Either way,… kind in both respects.” He heard the rumble of a laugh and nudged Thorin again, who just stretched, stood from his chair, letting his hand gently _fluff_ Bilbo’s curls.

            “Amazing, foolish, and kind,” He chuckled. “I think I’ll take the compliment where I can.” Bilbo swallowed thickly at the gentle ruffle of his hair, unsure of what to do as Thorin drew off shirts for his warmer sleep clothes. Bilbo peered upwards just as Thorin drew his slacks off for a pair of warm fuzzy cotton pants- M-Maker… Bilbo felt a flush of heat swirl about him and he shut his eyes tightly. “Just going to sit there, or are you going to sleep?” Bilbo leapt from his chair, knocking it over making the adventurer laugh. “Come now. You were so relaxed moments ago.” He came over and Bilbo tensed before him, though not in worry. “Or perhaps you were being a peeping tom again?”

            “I! I was not!” He tutted defensively. “I do not _peep!”_ Thorin just grinned, brows quirking comically before turning. He drew out new sleepwear for Bilbo out of a small box he had stashed away. He handed them to Bilbo who fondled them as he had drawn them from their container, a mixture of cotton and other warm fabrics for winter.

            “They’ll keep you warmer than what you have,” Bilbo stared down to them, two little ‘B’s’ inscribed at the collar of the shirt.

            “These have my initials,” Thorin smiled but said nothing. “You sent me away for these? Why I had to go shopping with your nephews?”

            “Of course, you said it, September was your birthday, and it’s October now,” Thorin gave a weak shrug, moving to draw his bag from his bed and set aside to sleep. “Please, I thought of it last moment when I went to buy them. Thought you might appreciate a bit of civilization and culture out in the wilderness with us _mountain men.”_ Bilbo was silent for a long while letting his thumb run over the stitching of his initials, and it caused Thorin a great amount of distress, so he looked to the writer, with expected dislike for the gift-

            The utter _joy_ spreading over the writer’s face was an unexpected one, at least from Thorin’s perspective. It was a simple gift, merely practical and partially a belated birthday gift, even _with_ the initials, Thorin had felt it would not do justice. Clearly, he was wrong. Bilbo drew his shirt off excitedly and began to toss the new pajama shirt on, lacing up the chest and neck, feeling it gingerly. Bilbo raised his eyes finally, to Thorin, a grin that was absolutely _glowing._ Thorin felt something in his gut stir, something impossibly _warm_ and…

            “Thorin, thank you,” he was grinning then. “I’m sure these are just necessity, but…” he rubbed the stitching of his initials again, proud and almost _cocky_ looking. “But I like these. A lot. Best birthday gift I could ask for going into harsh snowy weather with a mad mountain man.” Thorin laughed then and smiled softly, a bit… taken aback and embarrassed.

            “You’re welcome,” he looked down, chewing his lip as he rooted through his bag once more. He’d glanced up to ask Bilbo a question when he saw the writer wiggling from his slacks to put the bottoms on-

            They’d seen a great deal of skin between one another- and all of it had been harmless. Bathing, changing, getting dirty in the wilderness was sort of a hazard you just _dealt_ with. So changing was nothing new, and though the writer had been completely _prudish_ about it before, he had changed.

            Quite a lot. Bilbo tossed his pants to the bed and wiggled those hips of his into the warm pajama bottoms with a pleased sigh.

            “Mmm, you’re not getting me out of these now,” he teased and spun to face Thorin, like a child at Yule, completely _lit up_ with a simple gift. He scratched at his cheek bashfully, realizing he’d just stripped down with little thought. “I mean it.” He giggled again. “I will wear these _every chance_ I get.”

            “L-Let’s not wear a hole in them _before_ winter?” He teased and Bilbo laughed, moving to tuck himself into bed agreeing. Thorin followed suit, though he lay awake for a lot longer than the writer whose soft barely-audible snores filled the room with the crackle of the fire. Thorin was pondering that little pool of heat in his stomach that hadn’t left- this calm that washed over him in thought of the writer. He shook his head and turned away with a grunt, shutting his eyes tightly, but knowing…

            Knowing the little tug in his chest would not _lessen._

            The end of the week saw them off from Dale, wandering towards the great mountains with _several_ other travelers. Bilbo had not travelled with a group before, or a large mass of people, Thorin had drawn them away from the caravan before. He wondered if it was just because there was only a few cave entrances _all_ in the same place. So they remained close to the group and when they came inside, the smell of wet rock invaded Bilbo’s nose, the smell of wet steel and rust- a bitter taste upon his tongue.

            The large dome of the cave glimmered with stalagmites and stalactites at the mouth but the further they went inwards, the smoother the landscape became. There was a large river that threaded within too, darting off into several other caves. Many guides were around, calling visitors around to show them _travelled_ places, but Thorin had this brilliant idea to venture off from the groups.

            “T-Thorin,” they were wandering along the riverbed, the water here was this strange _green_ color, even with the golden glow of the torches and lanterns spotting the spacious entrance. “I-Is that a good idea?” Thorin shrugged.

            “Oh come on, Mister Bilbo, where’s your sense of adventure?” Kili winked.

            “We’ll protect you from the beasties~” Fili added though it did little to _ease_ Bilbo’s worry.

            “My sense of adventure is a package deal,” he grunted to the brothers. “Along with my sense of anxiety for wandering _aimlessly_ and becoming _lost._ Thorin.”

            “There isn’t anything to worry about,” Thorin added ceasing the conversation as he eyed which cave entrance he wanted to lead their group away through. “They all eventually lead out.” Bilbo grumbled but followed, lips pursed in worry. Eventually Thorin decided which cave he wanted to try going through. Bilbo followed after with a lantern, eyes warily looking for signs he could use to orient himself. The rocky walls all _looked_ the same.

            And the deeper they travelled, the less they could hear of other people. The sound of their movements became echoes. Water dripping became a very loud event and the slips of their boots and the grunts of the four men wandering through began to feel more and more isolated. Alien. The cave had become chilly quickly, Bilbo felt they must have rose in elevation, because a few times his ears had popped. They came to a large swell of water, a greenish blue, natural light was streaming in through gaping holes in the mountain side. Bilbo could see his breath coming out in puffs and he gave a shiver, but then his eyes darted to the water.

            “Fish? There are fish!” Fili was the first over, leaning over Bilbo and laughed- in the streams of light, beautiful yellow and green fish could be seen, darting around, swimming calmly. Kili rushed over, bumping into Fili excitedly but they all turned to the sound of clicking- Thorin perched upon a small overlook, completely focused. He lowered the camera, surveying the scene before raising the camera back up for a few more- and that’s when Bilbo felt this little tug at his chest, a warmth flushed deep and Bilbo gave a wiggle, hoping it would rid itself.

            The warmth only blossomed more strongly when he tore his eyes away, to find them returning. He found Thorin setting his camera aside, and trying to climb down to the alcove _just_ above the water’s edge. He knelt down, looking at the water right at his feet and then tapped the water a few times- a few flecks of dirt and mud had shed from his fingers or _something_ for a few fish flocked to the rippling.

            Fili and Kili were the ones to notice Bilbo’s outright _gawking_ at their Uncle and they just beamed.

            “Hey Uncle,” Kili called and Thorin groaned but raised his eyes to them-

            And caught his nephews grinning and Bilbo… Bilbo was stock still as if he had been awe-struck, and frozen. Thorin wanted to glance around, for those hazel eyes were piercing _right_ through him, making him shift uneasily. But he knew there was nothing behind him- knew those eyes had been intently staring at him- Fili nudged Bilbo and those eyes owled before he began to fumble, shoving the brothers forward. Even from here, Thorin could see his redden cheeks grow in color from being caught _staring_. Thorin had stood, drawing himself up to Bilbo and his nephews level, trotting down to meet them. Bilbo avoided his eyes, though the blush remained bright on his cheeks.

            “Come on, I bet this path levels out eventually,” Thorin waved for them to follow. They ascended a rather steep path up slick rock when light began to emanate ahead. “Boys come here, Bilbo…” he waved and they hustled forward- the glow was surrounding them _completely._ Bilbo blew out the lantern, and Thorin did the same, the glow from the ceiling and walls was _enough_ to light the halls completely.

            “What… is that?” Bilbo murmured, wandering closer to one of the walls as if he could reach them.

            “It’s a glow worm,” Thorin murmured and Bilbo turned, disbelieving, but Thorin’s camera was pointed straight up. “It’s actually the larvae of a mosquito native to these lands.” Fili and Kili had wandered off too, scoping out the different clumps of them. “There are some types of mushroom and fungi that have this property, some fish too.” Thorin had never dropped his camera as he turned to snap different photos, and the entire time Bilbo watched.

            Suddenly he was far more captivated by the man dancing to capture a world in his mind with places people could one day see with their own eyes. Thorin finally lowered the camera, gazing upwards, a smile of satisfaction and honest glee spreading. Bilbo thought it must have been contagious, or perhaps it was just when Thorin smiled. He looked up too, his hand resting upon the damp rock wall beside him. Thorin had turned to Bilbo, his chest grew tight. He didn’t know how long Bilbo had been standing there, but he snapped a photo which drew his eyes- their eyes met through the lens- a drawn out pause came between them, before Thorin lowered the camera, peering above it.

            He offered a wink and snapped another of Bilbo’s stunned expression. “Wouldn’t be an adventure if I didn’t document _all_ parts of the trip.” He looked down abashed and Bilbo’s cheeks darkened.

            “O-Oh w-well just don’t… take pictures of the awkward… moments, would you?” Bilbo hurried off, unable to remain standing before Thorin with his happy eyes flitting between him and his shoes.

            They only paused to munch on some food before they continued forward. Bilbo assumed it was much later now, and he grew worried, walking to Thorin. “Are we lost?”

            “We’re not lost,” Thorin sighed and turned to the writer. “I swear, we’re just going in a bit more.”

            “B-but what time is it—“

            “I assume it’s about mid-evening,” he was turning, and Bilbo gripped his arm.

 _“Thorin,”_ he hissed. “We’re wandering around a dank cave, we didn’t _bring_ more than a few days supplies—“ Thorin smiled and wrapped his arm around his shoulder, bringing him to an overhang. “W-What—“

            “Do you hear that noise down there?” It was a stream, winding through. They were a few hundred feet up, sure, but it was clear.

            “Y… yeah,”

            “That’s a stream, and it will run towards that large river that we saw when we came in,” Bilbo nodded at Thorin’s words. “I’ve been listening for that stream since we came to the pool earlier. We’re not lost. All we need to do is follow the stream out, alright?” He hugged Bilbo’s shoulders with a smile and felt the writer relax a bit against him.

            “Y-You’re sure?”

            “I’m positive, I would not wander into some unknown place without first knowing how to get out,” he chuckled looking down to Bilbo who peered up, the worry fading from his face. “Better?” Bilbo just nodded and Thorin squeezed the writer’s neck as he turned to lead them on.

            It had been only an hour since Bilbo questioned Thorin when he ran _smack_ against him, about to ask why he had stopped. Bilbo had been absorbed looking at the glittering rocks, and the apparent sunlight that was beginning to stream through what looked to be _ice._ Bilbo looked to Thorin, noticing he was holding his camera, but had not raised it yet, he was…

            Stunned. _Awed._ Bilbo turned and there before him couldn’t begin to have words. There were no words that Bilbo could use to describe the _gorgeousness_ of the end of their road. It was a hollow, a few little notches high in the ceiling that had melted away, the streaming running right _past_ them over blue rocks. The ceiling was glowing from the setting sun above, shimmering sheets of ice and snow patterned the floor like light streaming through leaves in the forest. Bilbo came and stood alongside Thorin, mouth gaping, no longer caring for his breath being visible before him from the cold. The sight was marvelous. Kili and Fili were romping around, looking and feeling, calling to their Uncle about the things they were discovering, but neither Thorin or Bilbo moved, still glued to their spot.

            Though Bilbo felt something warm at his fingers, something caress the back of his hand- Bilbo straightened, his throat tight. That warmth, that _caress_ was a hand. Was _someone_ _else’s_ hand brushing against his own. Bilbo squeaked and just as he lowered his eyes he felt Kili collide into his other side, gripping his arm tightly, pointing to the ceiling. Bilbo had fallen against Thorin who skidded a foot, groaning at his nephew’s enthusiasm.

            “Mister Bilbo, look!” and hazel eyes lifted to the ceiling, the holes and cracks revealing fresh snow flitting down softly, almost saintly. Fili came to Bilbo’s other side, resting his arm over his shoulder smugly.

            “Kili’s got it all in his hair,” and the youth brushed it off his head with a chuckle- but… Bilbo’s hand still itched from that earlier and innocent touch. His eyes fell to the adventurer who had stalked forward a bit, snapping a few photos, pausing and then lowering his hands from it- he watched them ball tightly and then unfurl.

            “What do you think Mister Bilbo?” But the writer just shrugged- whatever conversation he had been _having_ with Thorin’s nephews could not be recalled.

            “That sounds lovely, Fili,” though the brothers exchanged a look, they watched the writer step forward shakily and stand beside their Uncle- but what was most interesting was how Bilbo’s hands trembled, how one dared to spread and…

            Hook a finger with their Uncle’s hand. Neither looked at one another, neither dared to break the moment with words or awkward glances. Fili moved and leaned against Kili. “We totally messed something up, bounding over here.”

            “Well, glad Mister Bilbo is of a perceptive nature,” he responded to his brother. They didn’t quite understand their Uncle’s awestruck feelings, nor Bilbo’s for that matter, but all they cared about was that whatever strange _adult_ moment was passing over them, they were sharing it together.

            “Think they’ll do good together,” Fili pressed his nose against Kili’s ear, making the other squirm happily.

            “They’re all but _lovers,”_ Kili whispered back.

            “They just need to kiss _now,”_ their eyes met slyly after a moment, their grins mirroring the others. “Challenge that would be.”

            “Good thing it’ll be fun,” Kili giggled, which caused the brothers to start laughing _happily_ which caused Thorin to turn, breaking his and Bilbo’s hand apart, his cheeks red, and neither Fili or Kili took to heart Thorin’s threats of silencing for fear of an avalanche, they knew he was just _flustered._

            And Thorin had been. He’d been _upset_ his nephews had ruined a perfectly _fine_ moment, drawing the writer into their clutches. He knew their affection ran deeper than just teasing, they adored the writer, nearly as much he did— _wait._ He had stalked off to clear his head, taking a few pictures in hopes it could distract him from his hammering heart.

            It only made him fuss.

            Yet… something made his heart still, made it calm, a warmth. Fingers ran along the back of his hand and a single slender finger slipped between his own, hooking softly. His mouth fell open slightly and he wanted to look, but feared that if he did it just be his imagination, or that it would cause Bilbo to pull away.

            And… _Maker._

            It had been the silliest thing to roll around in his mind… When he’d gone to chastise his nephews for breaking the tender air about them, he’d turned to see Bilbo chuckling, smiling knowingly in return, hands tucked behind his back as if he had planned this with his nephews.

 _Maker he’ll be the death of me._ And though that brought him _more_ confusion, there was something oddly _right_ admitting that—his heart could not stop thumping against its cage, as if ready to burst. _Of all the people to flutter over…_ he chided the happy muscle beating away as they sat down for a late dinner of biscuits and fruits.

            Their meal was short, and their return was far easier, the descent eased by their knowledge of the terrain. The four of them were all jittery from the thrill of the day and sights, popping out of the mouth of the cave into the larger cavern, many people still coming in. They were ushered by a few guides to open places to camp for the evening. They settled, rising a small fire to have some of the meat they had brought along. They all had energy enough, sharing in their recollection of the day, awing at the natural magnificence.

            “It’s snowed!” Bilbo had his journal open, trying to write notes, but absolutely unable. He sighed happily, and Thorin chuckled.

            “I’m surprised, I believe we were quite high, altitude wise, though it didn’t seem like that,” he rubbed his beard in thought. “If it’s already snowing, we’ll have to pack a bit warmer than I thought.” Though none of them seemed perturbed by this notion. “Picked the right one I suppose.”

            “Could you imagine if we ran into one with _bats?”_ Kili nudged Fili, tickling his ears who shivered and shoved his brother away.

            “Or spiders, more like!” He tackled Kili to the ground, fingers wiggling, ghosting over Kili’s skin. He writhed laughing, though, trying to get away.

            “No, no, not spiders!” But Fili assured they would have to be, and then, he kissed his Kili. Bilbo’s brows rose high, not expecting the expression of love. The brothers had been wary, or private of their affections before Bilbo, he hadn’t seen them interact in this sort of way since when he had first been introduced. Thorin snickered, though he gave them a cough and they straightened a bit, blushing, before sitting up. It seemed to light some fire between them that Bilbo said nothing, for they tried to peck one another more often from then on.

            Bilbo found himself restless that night, and it was only Thorin’s gentle rumble of laughter that assured him he was not the only one fidgety. They woke before most of the travelers had, and began their trek _through_ the main caverns that would lead to the other side of the mountainside. They had _passed_ many beautiful scenes, though Thorin did not spend much time on them, if _any._

            “Thorin,” Bilbo tugged upon Thorin’s arm, pointing a waterfall that seemed to just be _rain_. Bilbo trotted to it, no one having spotted it as more than water dripping. Bilbo came and stood right under itwhen he jumped, water landing on his head- several streams and he gasped. Thorin laughed, and raised his camera to capture it, then his nephews joined in the merriment. Bilbo paused to let the cool water splash across his face- Thorin lowered the camera after having caught the simple moment. He was still startled that he had actively taken pictures of Bilbo in the wilderness like he belonged there. Bilbo turned and Thorin tucked his camera back into bag and just as he turned water splashed in his face. His nephews burst out with laughter, until he opened his eyes. He was glaring- Bilbo, Fili and Kili all swallowed hard- before Thorin scooped up water from the shallow stream to splash them.

            Bilbo had not had _fun_ like this since he was young, and not on this trip, definitely not like this. He felt as young as Thorin’s nephews, and when they stopped for lunch, some of the caravan pausing, and some moving on, they had their clothes laying on rocks to dry, having changed into others they had. Their hair was still damp and Bilbo drew Kili’s and Fili’s hair back into ponytails. Then he wiggled his fingers at Thorin. Fili and Kili helped their Uncle sit down to let Bilbo to tie his hair back, though he argued he didn’t need _help_ like his nephews.

            The adventurer did allow fingers to run through his damp hair though. Bilbo even used a small towel , fluffing his hair every so often before tying it back. By the time the four of them saw the light at the mouth of the cave, Fili and Kili had run forward in a race. Bilbo smiled and quickened his pace to see. Kili was leaning against Fili, both smiling as they overlooked the mountainside and the deep valley below.

            Bilbo was blown away. The scenery was that of summer fading into autumn, the green grass aging to golden waves. The evergreens tall and deep emerald, the distant mountaintops doused with snow, and the hills around the valley looking particularly chilly covered with low clouds. Thorin had come to stand beside them, smiling and Bilbo reached for Thorin’s arm, giving it a shake. “Take a picture.” He murmured and Thorin snorted.

            “Of what, Master Baggins, it’s a town and a valley,” But Bilbo was reaching for Thorin’s camera from his bag, flicking the switch, listening for the whir of film to be placed and he aimed- click. He took a few before handing the heavy camera back to Thorin, Fili and Kili eyeing them, half terrified and… half curious. Thorin was gaping too, and Bilbo eyed him, thinking he looked _much_ like a fish. So he grinned, withdrew the camera and snapped a photo of Thorin before handing it back to him.

            “There’s more than a valley and a city, Thorin,” He adjusted the straps of his bag. “That’s our future.” He started to head down the easy slope before turning when he didn’t hear them following. “Well? Come on, the city isn’t going to come to us, now is it.” Bilbo continued forward, Fili and Kili quickly ducking past their Uncle to follow after Bilbo. Thorin was staring at Bilbo then dropped his eyes back to his camera, but instead of gaping some more, he grinned and jogged down the slope to catch up, turning the three of them about for a snap-shot that had them all gasping and shocked.

            “Well, that is a keeper, I’d say,” Fili said that was _hardly_ a keeper, they all looked awful.

            “Speak for yourself, Fili, I look amazing,” Kili feigned, fluffing his hair, Fili rolling his eyes and Bilbo tapped them on the shoulders.

            “Let’s remember, I’m the best looking here,” he was smirking, though Fili and Kili eyed their Uncle who’d given Bilbo a once over. Realizing his nephews were staring- his cheeks reddened with being caught, snarling at them but they just giggled.

            Thorin smiled, walking in the little diamond shape they had taken to forming when the four of them walked together, watching his nephews to his left and right and Bilbo before him.

            It had been such a long time since Thorin let someone _else_ lead him forward.


	12. Cafuné

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter has come, and in the darkest reaches of the mind, one can only cling to hope with a fierce and mighty grip. Neither adventurer, nor writer, have that strength.
> 
> Cafuné: n. the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair [wordstuck.co.vu]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at chapter 12! Wooooo. So yay if you've guessed Bilbo's fear, yay if you haven't. You'll be painfully surprised by its end :3 I promise! I know I said to reach 2000+ hits, and I will keep my promise, but in the meantime, I see I have to post more to get you guys a little more interested it seems. >:3 Well, have no fear.
> 
> You'll enjoy this chapter, I think, and if you REALLY like it that much, maybe you guys will even get the next two chapters back to back days? Anybody want a bit of kissing (finally) between the obvious lovebirds?

             **Chapter 12: Cafuné**

            They resupplied at the town once they had arrived. Bilbo finished the fourth chapter, passing it off to a local who knew Gandalf, before they set out a few days later. It seemed oddly _colder_ on this side of the mountain and Bilbo could not help but be entirely grateful for Thorin’s urging to get warmer clothes. No, the clothes he had brought he knew should be things he held little or no affections for, so selling them cost him little grief.

            Within two weeks of travelling, the cold had settled in, even though it was barely Winter. Snow hadn’t begun to fall, but Thorin continued saying that the farther north they headed, the more likely they were to see snow. Bilbo was not looking forward to such _adventures_ against the white cold. In fact, he had hoped it would not snow, prayed for it in his sleep regardless if the Maker would hear or not. By the time they were traversing higher altitudes and rolling hills winter had come upon them. It was mid November, and the sun was setting far earlier now, cutting the time they could make progress in half.

            Bilbo was taught to melt snow before ever just drinking it if thirsty. He also learned that animals lost their fat slowly through the winter, so it was good to conserve eating meat and not cook it long, to keep themselves fully well and balanced in diet. Thorin taught Bilbo to fish, the old-fashioned way with a hook and line. But he also taught him how to trap, taught him how to catch fish, and how to prepare them and separate the bones. Thorin was aware that Bilbo seemed to be growing more anxious as they pushed on. He’d get panicked more easily or startled by the simplest of things.

            Thorin kept a trained eye upon Bilbo more often than not. There was something bothering the writer, but because he had chosen not to voice it, and Thorin would not pester him. Still, he caught him being… _odd_. When Bilbo thought no one was looking, his fingers would dive into his shoes and socks, checking his feet for… something. And then, he would check his fingers and hands, pricking them by pinching, wincing at each. He would check his forehead when his hands were properly warmed, and often was caught rubbing his arms near _frantically_.

            It was as though Bilbo feared _cold_ itself. When gusts of winter would come in, Bilbo would shut his eyes tight, sneering to himself. Thorin had Bilbo walk at the back of their line, more often than not, to prevent cold from hitting him. It seemed to make their trek easier.

            Thorin also tried to take Bilbo’s mind away from whatever had frightened the writer, having his nephews show him how to shoot turkey and duck. This seemed to postpone the worry that would fester. It was odd, it only seemed to bother him during the day- the cold, the feel of the stinging air, or harsh environment they encountered all seemed to daunt Bilbo like a shadow… but at night, he was content by the fire, laughing and writing as though nothing had happened.

            They had made it over a large series of hills, looking over their path, Fili and Kili excited they’d reach the top- it was only two or three weeks until December! There was a town less than a few days journey from their location they would stop at to resupply again. After that, it was just them and the open woods of the snowy north. Thorin had admitted he hoped to catch bob cats and maybe even the elusive mountain goats, though they would not venture far up the mountains. They would go where they could, and Bilbo let out a great sigh of relief, standing upon the crest of this hill gave him quite a clear idea that winter had arrived—

            That snow would come sooner rather than later.

            They arrived in town as planned, and though the cold had increased, they decided to hold off on selling the extra tent. Their trek forward was not as Bilbo had predicted. It could almost be _pleasant_ if snow would not fall this winter, Bilbo thought.

            There were plenty of rivers filled with fish- trees offered several young pine needles for warm teas. Berries and the like littered the floor and the first morning Bilbo woke to snow, he…

            Wasn’t as _terrified_ as he expected. Fili and Kili were throwing snowballs at one another, Bilbo chuckling though unable to bring himself out of his tent quite yet. Thorin had bowed down with a mug of something warm.

            “Coffee?” He smiled and Bilbo took it happily, and sipped it- though began to hack.

            “Maker, what is this, it’s not like coffee _I_ drink!” Bilbo strained his throat, though sipped happily at the drink offered. “I will definitely be awake! It is… an interesting flavor.” He offered a grateful smile in return to Thorin. “Thank you.”

            “Thought you might enjoy a bit of nature’s coffee, instead, low in caffeine,” He chuckled, fluffing hair before he went and finished cooking. Bilbo however, did not venture out of his tent unless it was to eat or relieve himself, which troubled Thorin _immensely._ “I thought you might like to come with me to catch a few shots.” He held up his camera to the writer who was sitting at the foot of his tent sketching. Bilbo raised his eyes and swallowed.

            “Uh, I can see from here,” he chuckled. “Feeling kind of stiff.” But Thorin let himself narrow his eyes slightly.

            “You should stretch then, the cold isn’t a place to feel stiff and _remain_ still,” he chided softly, but Bilbo just said he knew, said he would get up when he needed too. Thorin grit his teeth gently, but allowed the writer to remain in his tent alone.

            They remained at their camp that day, Thorin catching some rabbits in the snow nearby with his camera. He also photographed snow falling softly upon the branches of the trees surrounding them. And Bilbo wanted to be interested in the whitening landscape, but, he could not. Nothing about snow and winter was pleasant besides the fires and blankets one could embrace.

            That night had grown cold. The following night when they moved onwards had progressively dropped in temperature. Wind was harsh, it held cold moisture in the air that assaulted their faces and seemed to wiggle into _any_ place uncovered. Bilbo found himself shivering, teeth chattering loudly though he tried his best to silence them. He groaned, and ducked in a bit closer to himself. He wasn’t made for the cold, and what was worse, he could hardly find sleep, the cold, the wind and snow, and his own fears worrying him _far_ too much.

            Their third night of this, Thorin had lain awake, believing it was just an adjusting thing for the writer. But the man continued to chatter his teeth, panting for breath like he was struggling. _This has gone on long enough,_ the adventurer thought as he heaved a sigh, drawing up his shoes and a few blankets, and slipped from his tent with a hiss. The snow and cold bit at his skin and he ducked into Bilbo’s tent, throwing the blankets upon the writer who gasped, woke, startled.

            “T-Thorin!” He was sitting up and Thorin _swore_ the writer looked almost _blue_. His nose and cheeks were an awful shade of red, his ears so flushed they were nearly purple. His hands were white and Thorin sighed, shaking his head, kneeling down to spread the added blankets without waiting for any sort of permission.

            “You know nothing of keeping warm, do you?” He wanted to be more angry, but he figured he could explain this to the writer later- when the sun peeked over and offered a few hours of warmth. What could be _felt._ He slipped his shoes off and began to curl himself into the blankets and Bilbo gasped, sitting upright.

            “Wha-what a-are you do-doing?”

            “Sleeping, or trying to,” he pressed at Bilbo’s chest to lay him back down. “If we sleep together, we’ll share body heat, and we’ll stay warmer together.” He murmured and Bilbo remained stiff. “You’re chattering and shivering has kept me up the last few nights.” Instantly, the writer rolled to his side, showing his back to Thorin who sighed, but fluffed the blankets and yawned.

            They were still some distance away and then a very shallow gasp escaped.

            “I… can I be closer?” Thorin would not have said he’d heard the soft words had he not see the puffs of air rise from Bilbo’s mouth.

            “I didn’t come over here to be arms length _away,”_ He teased. “Master Baggins.” Thorin let the writer move, though he raised an arm under the blankets, lifting them. He watched the writer wiggle back a bit- and when Bilbo felt hot breath pass by his ear he shivered, stopping. The blankets settled about his shoulders as did an arm, laying upon his side and shoulder. There was still a good foot between them and Bilbo sighed.

            “Am I being childish?” Thorin _also_ would not have responded had he thought Bilbo was not talking to him, but those hazel eyes turned over his shoulder furtively to meet his.

            “I don’t bite,” Thorin murmured, half playfully, half _serious._ Obviously the writer didn’t just _lounge_ with others, didn’t have the comfort of another body, friend or otherwise. It would explain why he had been so jittery all these times Thorin would reach out for the writer. “Unless you want me too.” Bilbo groaned, shivering and shaking his head.

            “J-Just nonsense, a-always joking,” he tutted but after some time, Bilbo took a breath and scooted until his back was pressed against Thorin’s chest. He let out this huge sigh as if accomplishing some task. Thorin smiled and let his own body frame the writer’s, nose tucked against soft blonde curls, and he let his arm that had been merely resting atop of Bilbo’s body to encircle his waist, to keep the writer close. “T-Thorin…”

            “We’re keeping warm,” He assured, and Bilbo expected Thorin’s hand to try something devious, much like he expected of Thorin’s nephews. But it was limp at his stomach, barely touching, despite Bilbo wiggling a bit. “Sleep, Bilbo.” The writer swallowed thickly before apologizing which had a rumble from Thorin’s chest escape. “I understand why you’re flushed. I am not my nephews.”

            Bilbo had never been so _warm_ in his life during winter. No fire or amount of fur could amount to the warmth he felt coming off Thorin- he burned like a furnace, constantly and never chilling. When the writer woke he was still happily tucked into Thorin’s loose embrace, and he had stiffened a bit when a nose nuzzled at his neck… but soon he was beaming to himself.

            He could get used to this feeling, this warmth, though, when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure which sort of _warmth_ he was talking about; the flutter in his chest, or the one at his back!

            When they were rousing from their bed, Thorin was the first to step out, stretching. It was a bit warmer than it had been the last few mornings, Bilbo poking his head out as if terrified. That, of course, was also when his nephews walked by-

            “Uncle did you sleep with Mister Bilbo?” Fili asked, and Thorin didn’t even have to _glance_ to Bilbo to know his eyes were impossibly wide.

            “That’s so scandalous Uncle!” Kili nudged, teasingly, to his brother.

            “What of it?” Thorin’s brows furrowed a bit and he glanced down to the writer. “Come on, we should pack camp and move on.” Bilbo nodded shakily, though at least his cheeks were red from embarrassment. They took refuge by a few clustered redwoods, near a stream, setting up their tents when Thorin said that they should only set up one for Bilbo and Thorin. Those cheeks had reddened again, though Thorin smiled. “You slept like a fawn. I think it would do us _both_ some good if we both slept that well.” Bilbo had bowed his head, instantly ashamed.

            “S… sorry for keeping you up, Thorin,” his eyes trembled and his hands did too, gripping the support of the tent.

            “My, you must feel truly guilty to wear a face like that,” Thorin’s hand reached his blonde curls before Bilbo could glance up. “I don’t mind.” He glanced to his nephews. “And I’ll keep them quiet about it, if it bothers you that they see us sharing a tent.” Those cheeks inflamed again and Bilbo shook his head wildly.

            “It’s not that,” He sighed and Thorin pitched the tent as Bilbo moved to strap it in place. “I didn’t mean to keep you awake… I um…” Thorin’s eyes settled upon Bilbo rubbing his fingers then, as if counting to himself too. “I don’t really do well in winter. Shire isn’t full of cold, usually, not harsh like this is.”

            “All the more reason to cuddle,” and Bilbo sighed.

            “Th-This was all just a ploy,”

            “Yes, I’ve secretly been plotting how to cuddle with a human-sized hot water-bottle _this entire_ trip,” Thorin had chuckled, moving into the tent and beginning to lay out the bed as Bilbo watched. “If it bothers you really, we can keep our distance.” Bilbo had his hands wrapped about his elbows.

            “N… no,” Bilbo managed to stutter out. “Just… I’ve never slept so close to someone I wasn’t uh… you know, having more horizontal relations with.”

            “So you’re my first too,” Thorin knew those cheeks were red, but he did not linger upon the flustered expression. Fili and Kili already had a large fire going. Thorin finished, allowing Bilbo to set his things within and the adventurer came before his nephews. “Don’t tease him about sharing a bed with me.” He glared and they had opened their mouths to joke, but they were silenced. “I’m not joking about this.” His arms folded and he stared at his tent, before his eyes returned to his nephews. “I think something’s wrong. He gets impossibly cold. So, silence your jokes. Lest it set something off.”

            “Sorry Uncle,” they murmured but he waved to them. Their dinner was quiet and peaceful, though because of the temperature, they did not share in the brandy Thorin had purchased. He chided his nephews for wanting to drink, but advised them not to on these cold nights, especially the _cold ones._ When they all retired, Bilbo was a bit hesitant to let Thorin come close again, but an hour of trying to stifle his shivers and teeth chattering, he gave in.

            He rolled and scooted forward into Thorin’s chest, heaving a sigh when reached his warmth. Thorin chuckled and wrapped an arm about his back to bring him closer. The writer was so thoroughly embarrassed, he just nuzzled against Thorin’s tunic, huffing, his hands balled tightly into the clothing.

            “Sleep,” Thorin said softly, adjusting his other arm to slink under the pillows, eventually coiling about Bilbo in an effort to assure the writer he was safe and warm. The adventurer watched Bilbo find sleep easily after that, contently furled against his chest, nuzzling him. Thorin smiled and tentatively… let a hand come into those blonde curls, stroking them gently. The writer hummed happily, burying himself closer if it was possible and Thorin felt that fierce tug in his chest again, letting his eyes fall shut, a hand tangled into the blonde curls with a sigh. _Of all the people._

            They spent their nights together, curled into one another, and each and every night, Thorin allowed himself the guilty pleasure of combing Bilbo’s hair when the writer would dip into sleep. Each and every night he let Bilbo come into him, and it made his heart _race_ every time the writer would roll into him or roll to face him for warmth. On such a night, Thorin was on his back, content to listen to the writer drift off to sleep. The writer whimpered though, making Thorin still, and another whine made him grow concerned. He tried to hush the writer but-

_“Mama,”_ his voice was muffled against Thorin’s thick shirt, but it was clear. _“I’m cold, ma~”_ his hands fisted and Thorin felt something _boil_ in his gut. His hand resumed stroking Bilbo’s curls which eventually calmed the writer down again…

            Thorin was _not_ the one Bilbo sought comfort from.

            When Bilbo woke Thorin was not beside him and his head _throbbed_. He sat up only to sniffle and groan. Sick. Great. He had gotten a cold _despite_ trying to prevent such a thing! He dressed and stepped out, sneezing, and trying breathe through his nose. He stumbled towards the fire, as Fili finished making breakfast.

            “Mister Bilbo you look awful,” he said, reaching down and lifting his face.

            “I feel awful,”

            “I can make you some tea,” Kili offered from the side. “It should help to clear up that nose of yours.” Bilbo groaned but thanked the youngest. Thorin had returned with his camera and found Bilbo to look about as awful as he had the first time he stumbled on him in his tent.

            “What’s wrong?” Thorin was stepping forward-

            “He’s sick,” Kili said. “I’m going to make him some of that mint tea, help him breathe.” Thorin glared for a moment, sighing and Bilbo let his own eyes sharpen.

            “Great,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and Bilbo tutted.

            “Sorry,” He snapped and the adventurer stopped, taking a breath, shaking his head.

            “No, I should be,” he was stiff though, as he returned to their tent to put away his camera. A sick man in winter wasn’t usually an issue. A sick man that clearly had some _issues_ with winter and was obviously aware of the dangers of freezing… it was just something he did not want to dampen their trip. They were still two weeks away from their destination, if not more with the new route he had taken them. He wanted to travel through the lower parts of the mountainside to keep their nights _not_ as cold as they could grow to become.

            They did pack camp, and despite Bilbo being sick, he kept up, sniffling and sneezing, wheezing, but he did not make any complaints. Thorin half _wanted_ the writer to complain, half wanted him to just sit down and admit he was tired. Why would he continue on? Maker knows why, it irritated Thorin. They stopped for a late lunch, Bilbo happily flopping down and shrugging his bag off with a moan. He felt at his fingers and his toes again, Thorin watching outright then- of all the things to be concerned for, his _illness_ would his priority. “You should take it easy, Bilbo.” Thorin admitted before they prepared to move forward. “If you need a break or anything…”

            “Shouldn’t we just focus on moving forward though?” Maker, did Thorin just think he sounded _cute_ congested? He groaned a bit. “I mean, I’m sick, not dying.”

            “You should be well,” Thorin’s brows came together and Bilbo saw his expression darken. “Just… if you need a break or something, don’t hesitate to tell me, alright? I’m just concerned.” Bilbo smiled though.

            “I’m fine, really, Thorin, thanks,” he assured, though it only made the adventurer’s expression turn angry, storming off. Bilbo wondered if Thorin was more concerned with his _sickness_ than Bilbo _himself._ He sighed and carried on. He felt the sprouting of a fever, but it wasn’t terrible. He had some herbs to help bring it down and help revitalize himself. Though when they stopped for the night, Thorin was a step ahead of him, bringing him a crisp tea that had plenty of vitamin C the adventurer assured. “I’m not a baby, Thorin.” He was teasing- “I’m just congested a bit, but than—“

            “Well, if you had _informed_ us earlier you were cold, this would not have happened,” Bilbo glared outright then in return.

            “I didn’t know I had gotten sick,” he swallowed, licking his lips to wet his lip balm again. “I would have started taking more vitamin C had I known. I don’t understand what the problem is.” The adventurer just sighed, waving him off in a huff. Fili had brought a soup to Bilbo, about as confused as Bilbo was with their Uncle’s… distant behavior.

            Bilbo felt himself sag against the stump he was using as a seat. Fili was the first to approach him and Bilbo turned away- “I’m probably still contagious.” He growled out lowly, but the threat seemed hardly effective as Kili climbed onto the stump Bilbo was using too.

            “So I’ll give it to Kili,” he shrugged. “Are you… sure you’re alright, Mister Bilbo?” But Bilbo didn’t answer. His hands tightened about the bowl he was still eating from and Fili scooted in a bit closer, resting against his back. There was a familiar warmth in the youth’s embrace, Bilbo figured it reminded him of Thorin. They all seemed to run a bit hot, or perhaps, it was just Bilbo who ran a bit cooler. Either way, he sagged into the carefree embrace and Fili hummed. “I see why Uncle likes to cuddle with you, Mister Bilbo, you’re toasty.”

            “That’s probably the fever,” Fili shrugged happily though. “And… I don’t like winter.” Fili perked, but did not pester, just rested upon the other patiently waiting for Bilbo to continue. “I’ve always hated it since I was young, just as I got older, I got better at… hiding it, I suppose.”

            “Why would you hate winter? It snows, it’s the time for Yule and Solstice!” Fili hummed and then, snuggled a bit against Bilbo’s back. “Who doesn’t like cuddling in blankets with someone you like?” Bilbo laughed and turned his head a bit.

            “I doubt _you_ are just cuddling in mid-winter, Fili,” the blonde beamed to Bilbo and the writer _had_ to share in a laugh with him. “I just…” and his eyes lifted to see Thorin fiddling through something in their tent. He had wanted to assemble his- perhaps tomorrow, tonight was a bit colder. “When I was a boy, I had been playing in the snow with a few other friends in my town…” his voice grew thick with recollection, and Fili listened intently.

            A young boy less than a tween’s age getting lost in snow was considered a lost-cause, and Bilbo had _managed_ to be found, cold, hungry, hypothermic. Bilbo had gotten lost in fields behind his house, wandering, aimlessly, desperate and unsure. Fili _felt_ that fear bubble within himself, Bilbo was a grand storyteller, perhaps… a bit _too_ good.

            “How old were you?” Fili asked softly and Bilbo let out a shaky breath and sighed.

            “I was seven,” he rubbed his arms and let his eyes close. “I don’t particularly mind cold weather, but… anyway. Lost, cold, it was dark. A farmer nearly a mile from my house found me, tucked into the trunk of a tree,” he turned to face Fili who was _worried._ He rubbed his neck, chuckling a bit. “They were able to warm me up, and obviously, I survived, but I had passed out for a few _days_ with fever. All I could think about was my mom, because she knew so much, she always knew how to keep me warm on chilly nights…” his eyes lowered. “Few people want to wake up in the middle of night when you’re cuddling to you muttering about your mother or panicked.” He shrugged- “So the only good thing about winter is the food and Yule, obviously.” Bilbo laughed but Kili nudged his face against a shoulder.

            “So you hate the snow, huh? This can’t be fun,” Fili admitted, wondering what the writer truly thought about all of this. Thorin had stepped out of the tent now, smoking away as he was fumbling with his camera, checking a few negatives from his roll. He looked perfectly comfortable in _all_ seasons to Bilbo and he sighed.

            “No, it’s fun,” and Fili looked to him, and followed where the writer was staring so hard at; his Uncle. He grinned widely.

            “I’m sure we can make it more fun for you,” Bilbo shrugged.

            “The sooner I’m over this sickness, the better,” and they all retired soon after, though Thorin…

            Thorin kept his distance in the tent that night and Bilbo kept his mouth muffled into a pillow to keep from chattering too loudly, though he did not shiver much. Perhaps if he explained his story to Thorin… instead of Fili… though the writer was _sure_ Fili would tell Kili of his _experience_ and eventually it would reach Thorin. Maker, he should have rolled to enjoy the warmth of Thorin regardless if the man was turned away, but a surge of anger reared and he chose _not_ to.

            Two days later had Bilbo feeling _much_ worse than he had started off. He wondered if his herbs had gone bad, or if it was just from his sleepless nights, induced by the cold and his shivering. Thorin had not said a thing to him, either about being alright, about his chattering, or what he’d told Fili. When they broke for lunch, Thorin waved for Fili and Kili to find wood for a fire, and Bilbo sighed to Thorin. “We just took a break, not an hour ago, Thorin. We don’t need to stop for _me.”_ He huffed and Thorin glared in return.

            “Well, Master Baggins, if you weren’t sick, I would not stop,” Bilbo groaned though at the adventurer’s jibe.

            “Well, I’m already sick, there isn’t much to do about it _now,_ is there?”

            “Could you just take my advice for once?” Thorin snarled though, running a hand through his hair, drawing flecks of snow from it. “Just once. Not to press yourself. If I think you need the rest, you need the rest.” He chided, not believing that the writer was recovering _nor_ healing as he should be. “Is it so hard to rest?”

            “No, but I’m not a child, Thorin, I don’t need to be _pampered_ over a cold!” He stomped a bit upset. “Honestly, perhaps if we didn’t _get lost_ along the way, I wouldn’t have gotten sick in the first place.”

            “We are _not_ lost,” the adventurer unfolded his arms, presenting a much larger and frightful stance to the writer. “I took a longer path in hopes to catch more wildlife.”

            “How can you tell? We were supposed to reach that little frozen river and waterfall you mentioned _days_ ago,” Bilbo waved. “Thorin, there is _snow_ and _brown_ and that’s all, you don’t know which way we’re going.”

            “And I should listen to you, Master Baggins? A stay-at-home writer who hasn’t stepped foot from his comfortable lodgings, for _directions?”_ Bilbo swallowed thickly- Thorin had become so angry _so_ quickly. He’d never _seen_ such fury before, save perhaps when they had first started travelling together. He backed against one of the large redwoods with a gasp. “No, I know where we are. Two days from that frozen river, but we would be _there_ by now, if you could _breathe_ properly. No, Master Baggins, we’re running behind, again, because of you.” He pointed and Bilbo slapped his hand away, growling.

            “I’m not asking for stops! You are! I’m fine—“

            “You’re sick! It’s winter, do you really think I’m going to risk your well-being because you’re _arguing_ with me?” Thorin shook his head. “This didn’t have to happen.”

            “What was I supposed to do then, predict I was sick?”

            “You could have asked me or my nephews to stay in the tent, to keep warm, to prevent you chattering your teeth in the night,” Thorin pointed again, but Bilbo did not slap his hand away. “It was prudish to keep your distance and stupid—“

            “Well I’m not the one refusing to keep me warm _now_ am I?!” Bilbo finally knocked that hand aside a second time, and _shoved_ past Thorin, to give himself a moment to breathe. He got short of breath more quickly, and he attributed that to his congestion. “Ridiculous! I’m sick because it’s winter, not because!” He kicked at some snow, as he rounded a small hill.

            Fili and Kili had heard parts of the argument as they ascended the hill, but saw Bilbo rushing down angrily.

            “Mister Bilbo, where are you going?” Kili answered.

            “Alone! Confounded! If I have to listen to how _I_ am slowing down this merry little party anymore!” He roared and the brothers exchanged looks, though he felt chilly, he did not shiver, just rubbed at his arms then, stopped as he hurried to put distance between himself and Thorin.

            “W-Well! D-Don’t! Go too far!” Kili cried and Bilbo waved, flopping down nearly on command, bowing his head. The nephews returned to their Uncle, though he seemed… unfazed by the argument. “Uncle?”

            “Is he safe?”

            “Well, he’s sitting down, I guess that would be safe,” Kili admitted, and Fili set the firewood down.

            “What happened?”

            “He’s sick, and I know it’s worse than just a winter’s cold, but he insists it’s just that,” He waved. “I can’t _cure_ it, only rest will do.” He rubbed his face, and the brothers eyed their weary Uncle. “I’m just on edge he’s going to get worse, and apparently that’s wrong of _me_ to worry.”

            “He just doesn’t want to get in your way, Uncle,” Kili tried. “He’s really become a little adventurer, you know.”

            “That worries me,” Thorin chided, hissing through his teeth.

            “He’s just trying to make sure we all are having fun,” Both of the brothers were looking down in the direction Bilbo had gone, as Fili spoke. “You know, he really hates snow, something when he was a kid.” It wasn’t in Fili to keep secrets, not from his Uncle, and he’d shared it with Kili, who also promised not to tell their Uncle. “He didn’t mention a lot… maybe he just wants to get out.”

            “Then he should have said something,” Thorin growled out. “Pack up, we’re leaving.” And they returned to Bilbo, Thorin dropping his bag beside him. “On your feet, if you’re so well.” Bilbo gasped when he was _hauled_ to his feet, snow brushed off. “Don’t sit in the snow like an idiot. Or whatever you have _will_ get worse.”

            When they settled that night some miles from their starting point, Thorin tried to remain calm, and when they went to sleep, he slept on his back, in hopes the writer would roll towards him, seeking the warmth Bilbo claimed he was needing and denied.

            Bilbo _did not_ roll towards him.

            In fact, the following morning, they broke camp early, Thorin driving them forward. However Bilbo was groggy. More so than usual. He followed behind Kili, who had turned to check upon him often, making sure the writer was still following.

            By noon, however, Bilbo was pink in the face, murmuring to himself, and falling behind. He came to an abrupt stop, looking around dizzily, trying to orient himself. He closed and open his eyes several times, swallowing, and then gasping for air.

             “T… Thorin…” but a whisper. “T…Thorin.” His voice rasped and he stumbled forward before falling against the soft snow. Kili had heard the fall-

            “Uncle!” Fili whipped around too, both rushing when they saw Bilbo laying upon the ground. Kili rolled him around, bringing his head into his lap, Fili checking his breathing and pulse. “Uncle! Come! Bilbo…!”

            Thorin flipped about to see his nephews huddled on the ground and his chest seized. He rushed forward, falling to the ground on Bilbo’s other side. He drew off his glove, feeling his cheeks and forehead, checking his pulse, his breathing. He drew back his eyelid, seeing the pupil adjust to the light outside- good, he was _conscious_ of that. His heart rate was elevated, his breathing shallow. “Un-Uncle…” Kili whined.

            “Get a fire going, now,” Thorin hissed, drawing Bilbo up from the snow slowly, as carefully as he could muster. “Fili, set up a tent.” Thorin wrangled Bilbo’s bag from his back, and his own. The two brothers worked quickly, hurriedly. Fili laid out their blankets and Thorin moved forward, ducking in and tucking Bilbo within them, regardless of his clothing, making sure there was not cold coming from underneath. The fire was close, the blaze able to reach within the tent. “Light a few of the lanterns in here as well, and fetch those packs of water we have, and warm them up.” Fili and Kili did as they were told, bringing three small packs of warmed water several minutes later. Thorin rested one against Bilbo’s head, the others he tucked along his body. His breathing had seemed to recover in the time he had been doused in warmth, but Thorin could not get him to wake.

            He waited as patiently as he could. He stood and left the tent- Fili and Kili grappling with their Uncle.

            “What do we do? We’re weeks away from the city,” Fili murmured, Kili looking back between Bilbo and their Uncle.

            “We wait, we don’t have a choice,” Thorin frowned, his chest tight with fear.

            Real fear for the first time in a _long_ time- it tore at his very center, made him unbalanced. “I’m going to fetch some things for a tea, keep that fire going, and if he wakes, get him to drink something warm, anything.” He drew a knife and a hatchet from his bag, hurrying into the forest around them for wood and pine needles. _Maker, please…_ He stood looking at this gorgeous view…

            Snowy hills and a green and white canopy that twinkled in the afternoon sun.

_Maker, please let him be alright. Please._


	13. Whose Fleece is White as Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of winter as picturesque as tufts of feather-downs sprinkling from a pillow fight could not capture the elation that Bilbo is beginning to feel. Let alone what Thorin just knows he is feeling. Why are things so contradicting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, chapter 13! If anyone's been paying attention/reading these, or even seeing the word count for the chapters, they've all roughly been 5K (give or take). The NEXT chapter (14) will be closer to 9K, so don't freak out if you think it goes on forever, or this one ends to short! I hope you're all enjoying this, yaaaay, hit 1800+ hits, thought I'd update Chp 13 for all my silent readers!
> 
> Like I said, you all hit 2K hits, I'll write another little smutty thing between Fili and Kili, though I'd still like your suggestions if the little side-stories should keep Bilbo IN the context of remaining chaste to Thorin, or if we should deviate from my own AU and make him a little kinky? Again, I'm writing an IN-CONTEXT Bilbo, for these side-stories (in my mind, he wouldn't do anything with the nephews) but for you lovelies I might.
> 
> Enjoyyyyy.

             **Chapter 13: Whose Fleece is White as Snow**

            The fire was hot, the food steaming, and the warm compresses often recycled through the rest of the afternoon, in hopes that the Durin’s fourth companion would wake refreshed. They all took watches on the writer, one sitting within the tent for a few hours, checking vitals and _praying_ each in their own way…

            That Bilbo would wake and it would _just_ be a nightmare and nothing more. Thorin perhaps, took it the worst. He could hardly stand to sit within the tent at Bilbo’s immobile side, often stepping out and asking one of his nephews to take watch so that he might…

             _Pace._ And often taking his camera with him. Fili and Kili did not goad their Uncle on about his desire to bring his _camera_ , they understood he was just _frustrated._ He needed an outlet. It was early evening, the stars appearing in the violet-pink sky, no new snow had fallen, but the writer had not awoken yet. Fili checked his pulse again after Kili handed off some soup- it had slowed, but his skin was like ice.

            Cold, frosty. Fili set aside his bowl and took Bilbo’s hand, cold. He felt for his arms, then his chest- the warmest parts had grown cold!

            “K-Kili!” The other rushed in and Fili was already snuggling within the bed- “Come here. Get on his other side, and we’ll pray Uncle doesn’t think we’re molesting Mister Bilbo unconsciously!”

            “What’s wrong with him?”

            “He’s cold, touch his hand—“But Kili was already gasping at the fierce chill the simple touch had caused. “His heart rate’s dropped. He’s not shivering, which means his body isn’t recognizing it’s cold.” They were all wrapped together in the tent, trying to eat and keep Bilbo warm, trying their _best_ not to worry or fuss.

            An hour later, Bilbo moved a bit, wiggling between the two brothers with a groan. Fili reached desperately for his hand- it was warm- or warmer. His heart beat had raised, but not where they wanted it to be, it was a good sign though. Kili collapsed beside Bilbo and curled in- tired himself, wanting nothing more than to sleep this nightmare away and wake with it gone. Fili let them both sleep, and when Thorin returned, panic struck his face- “Bilbo grew chilled.” Thorin’s brows furrowed, a frown creasing and drooping his lips. “He’s getting better, but he’ll need someone to stay with him throughout the night.” Fili yawned then and Kili seemed to wake at his brother’s exhaustion.

            “We’ll take turns then, we can’t just sleep,” Thorin flared his nose, but turned and said nothing more. _I won’t sleep knowing if I woke he…_ the thought stopped him dead. He felt his heart give out- regardless of whatever friendship or relationship they were building, they didn’t need to be closer to feel the chill of _fear_ bite at his neck and tear at his heart.

            Thorin did not want to discover a friend, a _person_ , d… dea… _passed_ at his own foolishness, not when he knew he could help. Kili was the one that stepped out.

            “I napped already, so, Fili can sleep and I’ll watch, in there,” he tossed his head back. “Uncle you should sleep.”

            “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,”

            “And we both know you’re just _saying_ that too,” Kili gave a shove to his Uncle. “And we both know Mister Bilbo would have something sassy to say to you for that.” For a while, neither said a thing, though slowly a grin made it’s way upon Kili’s lips.

            “He’d say something like ‘you might as well be the living dead, you sleep like one!’” And both Kili and Thorin shared a chuckle, but Thorin’s eyes fell back to the fire. “He’d probably tell me to sleep, anyway. If he could.”

            “Then, maybe you should listen to your subconscious-Bilbo~” Kili rocked a bit. “Maker knows, he’s been right about a lot more than you ever expected.” Kili gave a hug to his Uncle before taking some food back to the tent and eating quietly, reading away a book he had stashed for the journey, allowing his brother and Bilbo to sleep. He checked on them both often, though more time was spent on Bilbo, who showed signs of recovering when he rolled to _face_ Fili.

            It was the middle of the night and Thorin slipped inside the cramped tent, checking on each his nephews, then upon Bilbo. His cheeks were rosied, his nose pink too. Though his ears were cold, he’d give a shiver every once in a while. _Maker thank you. I can’t thank you enough._ He wrapped his own blankets about him and sat at the foot of the tent, partially blocking the flap and keeping it covered. No, he would not find sleep, too exhausted to make his own- the thought that Bilbo might wake had him _waiting_ with anticipation.

            Fili and Kili found their Uncle sitting, head resting upon his knees, snuggled in several blankets and furs, knocked _out_ the following morning. Bilbo had regained much of his color and was mumbling in his sleep, warm and content, but not waking. Fili woke his Uncle who jumped a bit, flipping about, seeing his nephews beaming.

            “Uncle, can we tell Bilbo you sat and waited for him to wake?”

            “W-What? No—“

            “But Uncle, it’s so dashing of you!” Kili offered. “ ‘I slept at the foot of the bed, watching, waiting!’ ” Kili exaggerated.

            “ ‘Alas, my heart would not still whilst you slept!’ ” And Fili finished though Thorin snarled at them. It did nothing to cease their giggles. They went to start breakfast as Thorin crept within the tent to check upon Bilbo better. His breathing was even save for a few sniffles and coughs, his heart rate was easy and he was warm, and clearly _or partially_ conscious, for he could roll and was happy.

            “You had me worried,” Thorin whispered, reclining beside Bilbo, close enough they could share body heat. Bilbo would chatter his teeth every so often, a fever returning. Thank the Maker for that, at least his body was responding! Though the fever was not great, Thorin kept watch over it. He went to fetch Bilbo’s journal for something to do, returning to his spot beside the writer when he felt a hand.

            Timid. Shivering. It clutched onto his clothes- and Bilbo was wiggling closer, though it seemed to tucker him out.

            “Thorin,…” he shivered and finally, made it, his head knocked against Thorin’s chest, nuzzled in and released his shirt of his grip. He was all but _purring_ like a fat cat in his master’s lap, half smiling in his dreams. Thorin waited, believing he’d hear him mumble something about his mother again, but there was no soft peter of _mother_. There was another weak, yet satisfied, ‘Thorin’ that squeaked past Bilbo’s mouth though- Thorin could hardly _stand_ laying there, hearing those words, feeling that warmth… so he snuggled in once more.

            It was mid morning when Bilbo finally stretched, when his eyes fluttered open and he found himself face to chest with…

            W-With!

            O-Oh! “F-Fili…?” The blonde peered down bright eyed, grinning.

            “Mister Bilbo!” he grabbed his shoulders and gave the writer a little shake who shut his eyes with discourse.

            “Mmm, n-no shaking,” he grunted and Fili was quick to make the writer comfortable again, tucking him into the blankets. “W-What are you doing in my tent?”

            “You uh… don’t remember anything?” Bilbo blinked and recalled- walking- recalled they were still travelling and then…

            “I passed out,” he rubbed his head. “What time is it?”

            “Probably close to noon,” Fili murmured.

            “I wasn’t out long then?” Those shining blue eyes lit in laughter.

            “Ah! You’ve been out for a day!” Bilbo’s eyes _owled_ at that and he laid very still for a moment. “Kili!” the brunette bounded through, eyes just as wide and thrilled.

            “You’re awake! Oh! I’ll get you some breakfast! Some yummy oatmeal!” He leapt away again to return a few minutes later with a large bowl of… _mush._

            “W-What is that?”

            “Oatmeal, I mean I added some berries and sugars too,” Bilbo eyed it and stirred it, catching a few berries and sighing, resting it on his chest.

            “Was I really out for a day?” He asked, though more to himself and the brother’s exchanged looks.

            “You said you got sick like this once before,” Kili murmured and Bilbo nodded. “We… haven’t told Uncle.”

            “You should probably do it,” but that seemed to trigger Bilbo’s memory once more. His brows knitted together, lips pursed, but it was not out of anger…

            But frustration, disappointment…

            “I… don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bilbo murmured. “I… would really like to _not_ further incur the wrath of your Uncle after the day before…” he rubbed his cheek. “I was so stupid, I should have known.” He sighed exasperated and was… _surprised_ the brothers remained silent. It only allowed him to think- had they heard him mumble Thorin’s name? He knew he had called him- when he collapsed, when he slept. It was all he could do in his delirium to think of the adventurer…

            “You should tell Uncle,” Fili finally broke him from his thoughts. “I… We’ve never…”

            “Never…?” Bilbo queried.

            “We’ve never seen Uncle look so _distraught_ before,” Kili finished. “He looked like he’d… I don’t know, cry or something.” The youth shrugged. “He won’t be mad.”

            “Where is he, anyway?”

            “Uncle’s taken to… wandering angrily in the woods with his camera,” Fili said. “I doubt he’s actually _taken_ any pictures but… he’s… _scared_ I guess.” The brothers, assured that Bilbo would be warm, _insisted_ they heat up the compresses before going out for their Uncle. Bilbo ate his breakfast and set it aside, but found that sleep took him back readily.

            The second time he woke, his neck ached and he was…s-staring at a waist. A-At…his eyes _grew wide_ … his head… was resting upon a strong thigh, a cross-legged thigh that _had_ to be asleep for how _awful_ his neck was feeling. He swallowed thickly and looked up. Thorin’s arm was dug into the opposite thigh, a fist resting against his cheek as he slept. Or… appeared to sleep. His head would droop and then he’d catch it, and droop again, humming or grumbling to himself.

            T… Thorin?” His eyes slowly began to blink away the sleep when they recognized Bilbo had been the one to call his name.

            They _widened._

            “B… Bilbo,” Thorin straightened a bit. “Wh-What the hell is wrong with you?” He snarled then and Bilbo scooted back off his leg and into his blankets- as if he could bury himself away. “Do you have any idea what you even caught? What could have happened if you let it progress you—“ but seeing the writer cower from him…

            Hurt more than _losing_ him. He sat back, setting some distance between them and watched terrified eyes peer up from his blankets. “I’m sorry… I’m upset. That…” his hands balled at his knees, attempting to control his rage. “You just did something…s… stupid and…” his teeth grit hard together. “And I was worried.” His voice was gruff and full of agony.

            “You can… uh… yell if it makes you feel better,” Bilbo shakily sat up, though he wrapped the blanket around his back to huddle in. “I… deserve as much.” And… they sat in a tense and shaky silence. “I didn’t tell you so that you wouldn’t worry.”

            “Of course I’d worry!” Thorin groaned. “You’re my responsibility, whether you think it or not! I couldn’t just _off_ and let you…” he rubbed his face, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I’d worry if you told me not to, _anyway._ ” Bilbo chuckled.

            “Now you’re sounding like me,” Bilbo tutted, though he said it with a smile. Though they said nothing for a while longer before… Bilbo scooted a bit towards Thorin. “Can I tell you why?” Concerned eyes met Bilbo’s- and for once, those gray blue eyes _shimmered_ with unshed emotion.

            Quite _literally_ unshed tears. Whatever the tears were from, fear, or rage, or upset, or worry, or even _relief,_ Bilbo didn’t know and would not question it, just… smiled. Thorin prompted what Bilbo would tell him. “Why I assured you nothing was wrong?” And Thorin pushed Bilbo back towards the middle of their tent, away from the flap to speak. Bilbo brought his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms about them and rested his chin upon his knees and took a breath. “I thought your nephews would surely tell you.” He admitted with a chuckle.

            But Bilbo took a breath. “When I was seven, I was out during one of the very rare times it snows in Shire. It was a harsh Fell Winter, something my mother and father only told me happened _twice_ in their lifetimes. It snowed heavily, but for us kids it was fun and games. And… we went to play hide and seek. And it was just before dinner. I remember the smells of peoples home, the good food roasting. I was the seeker, but… since the snow had fallen, I got disoriented- and obviously, since we were playing a game, I couldn’t ask my friends to come out…” he ducked his head and took a breath. “So I wandered. I got lost, not that it was hard, two hills over and there are no homes, just fields of white. I couldn’t smell the food anymore, and I was hungry and thirsty. So, while trying to find somewhere to hide, I ate some of the snow, and… night came, I tucked…” he shivered then, and let his jaw tense, let his nose sniffle with tears unbidden. “Ugh, I got lost, and I found a large tree with a hollow in its trunk and tucked myself there- but… it happened to be in a field of cows. A farmer had been herding his cattle in a-and s-saw me.” His voice was thick.

            He sat up to take a better breath, though did not look at Thorin. “He recognized who I was, and took me home, bundled like a babe. I just… kept asking for my mom, rambling stupid things, I hardly remember being picked up and taken home. I slept for three days. I suppose I must have woke they let me drink warm water… but I don’t remember much of it, just sleeping.” Finally, he rested his chin back upon his knees and slowly looked up to Thorin, who was… stoic, remaining blank faced to listen. He wondered what the adventurer was thinking, what sort of rage or upset he was causing within him. “So… I told you not to worry because I knew it had just been a cold and I… I was stupid not to listen to you and… should have recognized my own delirium!” He groaned and tucked his head between his knees. “I’m…” his voice squeaked. “I’m sorry Thorin. For… being stubborn and an idiot and… lengthening this journey unnecessarily and being more deadweight than…”

            But there was a hand on his arm, then it tugged. Then his other arm was being tugged, his legs gave way and Bilbo found himself face-first with Thorin’s shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around his back, Thorin’s face resting against his hair. His heart had stopped.

            Or damn near _felt_ like it had. It felt like winter had come out and froze them, froze the world just for this moment. It dragged on, and the warmth that flooded Bilbo was… unlike any other embrace before, a mixture of relief and worry and anger.

            “You are an idiot,” he murmured against Bilbo’s ear, gruffly, but chuckled. “Not deadweight.” Bilbo expected the hug to end, expected Thorin to release him but,… his arms remained locked. “Stubborn, absolutely. Hiding that so I wouldn’t worry, like I wouldn’t worry _regardless._ A bit oblivious too.” Bilbo huffed at Thorin and finally reached to wrap his arms around his back, tightening in his parka.

            “I just didn’t want you to treat me different,” Bilbo managed to squeak out and this had the adventurer stiffen for a moment. “You would have gone slower, taken easier paths and… that’s… that wasn’t what you wanted.”

            “I put you at risk when it did not have to be—“

            “Thorin,” Bilbo drew from Thorin’s arms then, holding him back, eyeing him. “This trip can’t just be about you or just about me. It’s mostly about a book, honestly, and us being _stupid_ and reckless _together_ to write it.” Thorin shook his head though- “It’s about you.” Thorin…

            Blinked and waited. “I didn’t tell you or insist on another way, because there was something here you wanted to capture, there was a world here you wanted to explore.” He took a breath. “And I wanted to see it too. I wanted to write it so that the world could see it with us… and I couldn’t do that if you couldn’t come here.” Bilbo bowed his head, sagging a bit, his arms falling away from Thorin’s. “I wanted you to be here Thorin and… and I wanted to be here too.” Tentatively he rose his eyes to meet Thorin’s expecting rebuttal or disagreement.

            Yet, what was painted over Thorin’s face was… _priceless._ He was abashed. Taken aback. Startled or swept away, Bilbo wasn’t sure what he was seeing over Thorin’s face. “So… I kept silent. For you because… _I wanted_ you t… to be here. A-And… and that’s all I have.” He shrugged a bit hopelessly. “I did something stupid for you because… you… you just light up like a little kid, and it’s… so inspiring…” His hand found Thorin’s arm desperately. “ _You’re_ inspiring.” Silence. Silence reigned for quite a while before Bilbo encountered Thorin’s full _embrace._

            It was _suffocating._ His arms were tight about his back, though Thorin said nothing, Bilbo knew there were hundreds of things running through his mind. So the writer just embraced him in return, smiling. “Aww, you’re just a big… teddy bear.” Thorin snorted.

            “Consider me wooed, dammit,” he groaned playfully, convinced and _sure_ … he knew what the skip in his heart was, the tightening in his chest. He knew the flush over his face and the glee filling his senses was from the writer, though whether he wanted to discern if it was _more_ than just appreciation or something _more_ he chose not to dwell on it.

            Now wasn’t the time. The hug lasted for a while before he tensed. “Uh…”

            “Ah, awkward, huh?” Bilbo tutted, how long had they been in this embrace? How long had Thorin _denied_ the writer from parting?

            “A… a bit,” But Bilbo just laughed and patted his back.

            “I don’t mind,” the writer tucked his chin upon Thorin’s shoulder and the adventurer swore he could feel Bilbo’s smile radiating without looking, could feel it’s infectious joy spreading. “I would like to breathe a bit though…” Thorin instantly released him, straightening his blankets and hair with nervous hands. “So… we’re better?”

            “Much,” Thorin smiled, for once since Bilbo had become sick, _trusted_ Bilbo’s words of feeling better. “We uh, won’t be heading out until tomorrow. I want to make sure you don’t regress.” Bilbo smiled and he was sure the writer wanted to say he wouldn’t but instead… he blushed and giggled, hiding his face away. “Rest, will you?” he asked warmheartedly, straightening out and taking the hot compresses back. “I’ll get these heated back up for you.” Though Bilbo wanted to protest, he held his tongue, allowing Thorin to do as he wished.

            The following day, Bilbo was feeling refreshed, though he still sniffled a bit. Fili and Kili were enthusiastic the writer was well, encouraging him to have a snowball fight. It incurred the wrath of their Uncle who joined in after being pelleted far too many times.

            They came to the river Thorin had said would be frozen over, and Bilbo was so glad he was well to see this sight. He was the first to run down the snowy slope, laughing as Fili and Kili followed, howling their own cheer. Of course, once they came to the river’s edge, Bilbo hesitated, but the brothers raced over it, flinging one another across it, laughing.

            Thorin came beside him, and then… stepped onto the ice standing before Bilbo. The writer looked hesitant, if _panicked_ … until Thorin offered his hand, gloved and inviting. “I promise I won’t let you fall.” He teased and Bilbo took his hand, full of trust, chest pounding as he was walked onto the ice. Thorin eventually gave him a gentle push and Bilbo slid forward, Fili catching him by the arm to stop him from going any further. Thorin spent a great amount of time catching the rivulets of air under the ice, of the water below still active- but that eventually turned to Bilbo, his lens drawn to the writer with little help from the photographer behind it. Bilbo caught him photographing him, but instead of being shocked, he beamed and Thorin fussed, taking a few sloppily, before claiming that he was looking at something _right beside_ the writer.

            They camped that night by the waterfall. Bilbo had come out of their tent and stretched, looking up at the night sky-

            “Thorin…” he moved and tapped the adventurer’s shoulders. He looked to Bilbo and then followed his gaze- northern lights. Rainbow lights danced across the sky, sparkling with the stars behind them- Thorin reached for his camera, but Bilbo was already holding it out for him, beaming. Bilbo had seen the aurora borealis as just a glimpse when they had been on the train to the great mountain cities- he could _never_ have imagined they’d light his chest with gladness and butterflies. Thorin, whose gaze had been upwards, eventually fell to the writer, struck with awe, brought an arm about his shoulder.

            “Doesn’t compare to what you saw before, does it?” The writer was speechless.

            Their trip to the next city had been better, despite the mishap of Bilbo’s hypothermia. He had not remained ill, and was well by the time they arrived. They sold their spare tent, bought several cured foods and headed for the next city- it was a city that was said to attract many travelers for their Yule celebrations and winter Solstice.

            As they headed east, for the city, they noticed that the land here had been relatively untainted by the snow, but that the weather had taken to freezing instead. Bilbo was _more_ than grateful for selling their other tent and curling in furs against Thorin. He would never turn away the warmth offered by any of the Durin men, but especially the eldest who seemed more protective, though in an oddly freeing way.

            When they came upon a slight mountainside, Bilbo asked if they could travel across it, perhaps to see mountain goats, though Thorin knew none remained there.

            “They’ve all probably gone to higher altitudes,” Bilbo glanced up then sighed. “We caught the bobcats.”

            “I know, oh~ what about a sunrise, I bet it would look great cresting over that ridge,” he’d seen it a bit, when he woke up earlier enough, pink lighting upon white snow caps and Thorin blinked.

            “Well, it won’t be any _colder_ than it is here,” He smiled and they settled to walking across a rocky mountain face, seeing valleys they had been wandering _right past._ Bilbo was awed by the scenery still remaining golden green so deep into winter. Kili was the one who discovered a large alcove, a cave, deep enough for the four of them to settle for the night. They built a large fire and set a few torches by the mouth of the cave to keep predators away or anything else. It was warm within the cave, Bilbo content to not wear _every_ single piece of his winter gear. They had killed a turkey a day before and had that with a few potatoes and biscuits they had purchased in the last town.

            Thorin woke with a grunt and sat up to stretch when his eyes caught a sheet of white. The snow was sprinkling down in tufts, like downy. Thorin raised the fire from it’s embers into a full blaze before standing at the mouth of the cave- what had once been rolling hills of gold and green pines was now a white winter. Fresh snow- it would be fluffy, would be… Thorin glanced over, hesitant before moving and kneeling towards the writer. “Bilbo.” He whispered, giving a gentle shake to the writer’s shoulder who groaned, eyes fluttering open.

            “Mmm, yes, what?” He whined a bit, trying to focus upon Thorin.

            “Get dressed,” he issued, and said no more but Bilbo groaned… but listen. He laced his boots up and found Thorin already dressed, he wondered how long the adventurer had been _awake._ He stood, stretching and covering his mouth as he yawned.

            “What did you want to… show…” but when Bilbo reached the mouth of the cave, sure he had seen snow fall- but he hadn’t remembered seeing it fall so _quickly_ that it covered a landscape he had just seen _yesterday_ as _yellow_. “Thorin…”

            “Fresh snow, or at least, it’s the first snow,” he stepped out into the air, a bit crisper.

            “It’s almost _warm,”_ Bilbo murmured, though shivered. “Nope, hallucination.” He chuckled and they wandered across the ridge carefully, their eyes taking in the landscape, now more smooth, rounder even. “It’s gorgeous.” Bilbo cooed softly, not minding the snow falling against his face or hair. His eyes lifted to Thorin who was grinning himself, snow getting caught in his long hair and beard. Bilbo snickered and Thorin looked to him, and Bilbo wiped around his own face- Thorin’s eyes owled and he quickly brushed away the snow from his face. “You woke me up to see this?”

            “I thought… it might be a better experience than a few weeks back,” But Thorin began to frown then, doubting himself.

            “You know, I would have still said I preferred the other seasons even though we had a good time,” his chest swelled then and he had to take a moment to pause and breathe _himself._ “But…” Thorin blinked, gazing upon Bilbo. “I… I’m not so afraid of the snow anymore, or winter.” He bent down and scooped a bit into hand, giggling at it’s almost _tickling_ sensation- he’d never _felt_ fresh snow before. Fluffy and quick to melt.  “And I have you to thank for that.” Their eyes met- “Me getting sick included. I like winter this way, far better than any of the winters I’ve spent holed up. So… thank you, Thorin.”

            The adventurer let a bit of his guard down, slipping an arm about Bilbo’s shoulder, bringing the writer against him. Bilbo accepted the loose embrace, just leaning against the adventurer, hands stuffed into his pockets with a grin that was as bright as the snow littering the forest floor.

            “You are most welcome, Master Baggins,” a squeeze. “I enjoy winter like this better, too.” He didn’t fail to notice the way Bilbo lit up, nor the way that Bilbo snuggled his shoulders against him _either._ Bilbo though was the first to draw away, to walk a ways down before squatting and scooping up a ball of snow. Thorin was watching with a smile- until that little ball of snow pelleted him in the face. Bilbo fell into the snow laughing, loudly, utterly satisfied with himself- until he heard the loud crunching of Thorin following after. He scrambled to stand, scooping up another snowball and tossing it, whacking Thorin against the shoulder. Thorin moaned, getting a large one and tossing it- missing it and Bilbo stuck his tongue out at the adventurer. They ran and chased like children, Bilbo was cornered, walking backwards. He tripped and Thorin rushed over worried, but the writer could only laugh, and Thorin helped him up, smashing a snow ball onto his hair. Bilbo gave a shove, Thorin crashing back into the soft snow as the writer darted off, calling him a cheat.

            Bilbo was breathless and he was trotting up the hill towards the mountainside when he gave up, flopping onto his back and making a snow angel. Thorin came after, resting on his knees above the writer to catch his breath. “For a… pudgy little guy, you sure can run like you’re in shape.” Thorin took a gasp of air-

            “And you run like the little pudgy guy would, breathless and heaving,” Thorin sighed to him, but was grinning as he shook out his hair of snow upon the writer. “Ew I don’t want your sweat-snow Thorin.”

            “Deal with it, you little sneak,” he teased back, collapsing beside Bilbo. They laid there for a few minutes, catching their breath and Bilbo did a stupid _stupid_ thing. He glanced over to Thorin- and he just _looked_. His chest was warm within seconds, _hot_ even, from the smile he was privileged to see, the _elation_ on Thorin’s face. He became _very_ aware that he was flushed from looking at Thorin, that he was… _eyeing_ him with something akin to _desire_. He just knew it. And if Thorin ever looked over, if the adventurer so much as let his eyes wander to Bilbo- he’d see.

            And he’d be caught. He’d be caught trying to explain why he was so warm, when it snowed. He would have to explain to Thorin why, no matter when the man smiled, Bilbo would too.

            He would have to explain to Thorin _and_ himself… why he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the adventurer. And Bilbo… Bilbo himself, wasn’t quite sure _why_ , though he had a very good hint, a very good inkling into his recent behavior- in fact, it wasn’t even recent. He’d been doing this since they left, but now… now he’d seen Thorin in many different lights, in different contexts and could… _share_ in it…

            Bilbo tore his gaze away, letting the fear and worry fester a bit upon his brow. _What would he say if this pudgy little writer had eyes for the handsome adventurer?_ They returned in lightened spirits however, despite Bilbo’s digression within his own behavior. Fili and Kili were awake though snuggling and… sending hands into questionable places. Thorin _announced_ their return to cease the actions, though he and Bilbo laughed. That fear returned, that whatever affection Thorin held for the writer would dissipate, if he knew _anything_ more than what Bilbo was reciprocating wasn’t _just_ affection.

            When the adventurer turned with a smile, asked if he wanted breakfast, the fear flitted away- no, the adventurer might outright reject the writer on a number of reasons, but, _he wouldn’t say no because I am the pudgy little writer._ Bilbo fantasized, _he might even like the pudge better._


	14. December, Oh December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could the holiday season do to a pair who are drawn together, slowly, as if engaged in the gentle dances of courtship?
> 
> A lot of witty banter and sobering realizations, that's what!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter. I love this chapter because it was fun, and really is bringing out how I want Bilbo and Thorin to interact, more as a couple, than as friends. 
> 
> Aside, however, "Solstice" happens in two different times of the year, Decemberish, for the northern hemisphere (hence the holiday/christmas feels going on) and the southern hemisphere solstice, which happens in summer. I made Solstice/Yule just a preference of "what to say" fot the holiday season, inferring some say "What are you doing for Solstice" or "I'm celebrating Yule with my family" i.e. I know they're not REALLY the same, but I made them so, as I liked the different ideas that Solstice and Yule had (candle lighting ceremonies and lots of 'yule' food) So please, if you celebrate these, and I'm wrong, my deepest apologies, I thought it would be worse to just say "Christmas" and "the winter holiday" was boring. 
> 
> ANYWAY~! I shan't spoil it for you, just know this chapter is about 4K LONGER than the other chapters (which are all about 5K~ give or take)

             **Chapter 14: December, Oh December**

            The rest of the trek through the snowing mountain and hilltops went uneventful. Bilbo had written Chapter five, wondering if Elves would really live so close to a place as cold and bitter as the mountains. Thorin assured it would go with their cold and biting personality, it was a remark that made Bilbo tut- the dwarves of their world would probably be just as snippy. Thorin only ruffled his hair lightly and told him he had not experienced their hospitality.

            Bilbo had a feeling he was getting to through Thorin, however.

            When they came upon the snowy city, it was already thoroughly bustling. People drawing in pine trees to tuck around and decorate, even oak trees were collected to partake in the festive lights and ornaments. The street lights were changed in color, the glass protecting the golden flame replaced with greens, reds and blues. Bilbo had never seen a town decorate so _festively_ before, and he appreciated the warm hospitality of nearly every stranger they traded or bartered with.

            Many asked if they had a place to stay for Solstice, it was a cold winter indeed! Others asked what sort of things they celebrated to help encourage them to partake in the city’s own festivities.

            “Uncle, why haven’t we ever come here before?” Kili hooked an arm with Bilbo who sighed, but kept the youngest in tow as he tried to drag the writer to a fro amongst the food stands.

            “Because it’s usually crowded and-“ a horse-drawn cart nearly ran Fili over who hadn’t been paying attention in his wanderings. He glared at the oldest, the blonde ducking his head apologetically. “And busy. A lot of people come in and out of town. It’s particularly hard to find rooms, despite all these people offering up their own.” He shrugged a bit of snow off his shoulders, tucking Fili beside Bilbo, who ended up linking arms with both of the brothers to keep them in place.

            “But it’s so gorgeous!” Kili had finished. “What are we going to do for Solstice? Light the fire? Oh, a candle prayer!”

            “Uncle’s going to play music!”

            “If I can find the bloody…” Thorin’s lips pursed as he sought directions.

            “Your… Uncle plays music?”

            “Pretty sure he brought that fiddle of his,” Fili answered.

            “I think so, he usually takes it with him,” Kili shrugged, huffing as they waited for Thorin to finish talking with the street merchant. “I haven’t seen him pull it out.”

            “Me neither,” Fili added. “But he has it though, I’ve seen a box that looks like it.”

            “Wonder why he hasn’t played,” Kili questioned. “Bet he wanted to impress Mister Bilbo.”

            “I doubt he wanted to impress me,” Bilbo stammered though his eyes lifted to see Thorin talking, nodding, listening to whatever the other man was saying. Thorin had pointed in another direction and the man nodded in agreement and Thorin shook his hand with a smile and returned to his nephews and Bilbo.

            “It seems the Inn I wanted to stay at has recently expanded, and has another. _And_ the original inn is full, they usually host most of the… er, debauchery during this time of year,” Thorin grunted. “That man said the other was a little ways down, out of the market district, and a bit more homey.” His eyes settled upon Bilbo who felt his cheeks light.

            “It’s not debauchery, Uncle,” Fili murmured, pouting.

            “It is when they do it in the streets,” He turned and led the way towards the street he was told. They found it to be filled with a few regulars and were able to secure a room through Solstice and Yule, and even a few days after that too. They stepped inside, a quaint living room with two rooms and _even_ a bathhouse tucked in the back.

            “Oh a bath, move aside,” Bilbo tutted quickly, setting his bag to the table and rooting for his bathing goods. “Cold rivers are one thing, cold rivers in snow, during mid winter, with nothing but a fire,” Bilbo waved. “I draw a line. Call me if you need me, I will be there—“

            “But what about the rest of us?” Kili pouted, visibly sinking.

            “I’m sure they have a public one—“ then Bilbo paused and turned. “Unless you’re suggesting bathing _with_ me…” and both brothers seemed to wiggle in excitement at the possibility of spending time with their… er, favorite writer. “W… well why don’t we see how big the bath is.” They rushed past him, their bags still on their back, knocking him around. “You’d think I just told them they were free to get dirty again.”

            “They like you,”

            “Well I like them too, but I…” his voice caught a bit and Thorin was smirking.

            “Honestly, all this time and you’re prudish over—“

            “No! Of course not, I’ve seen enough to last me a lifetime,” Thorin chuckled, moving into the adjacent room, a few candles lit. Thorin stepped within to light fireplace, humming as it crackled to life. Bilbo stepped within, setting his bag to the other bed and stretching. “Are you going to join us too?”

            “If there is room for four, I doubt that it—“

            “There are only two,” Kili announced, though when Bilbo looked at them they _hardly_ seemed disappointed.

            “Two baths? Oh, well, we can go in turns—“

            “No, Mister Bilbo, two large baths!” Fili described- “we can all bathe, Kili and I can take one and-“

            “You and Uncle can have the other!” It was as if they had just _decided_ that was the plan, hurrying off to the other room to claim. They also lit the fire, but were soon heard padding to the bathhouse and lighting _that_ up.

            “We can take turns, if you want,” Thorin chuckled lightly.

            “No, then they’ll ask why, and I don’t really have a reason, and then they _will_ come into my bath and ask and,” Bilbo waved. “I’d much rather have your protection than not.”

            “Oh, I am glad you have found me useful,”

            “Only comes in handy with your nephews though,” Thorin and Bilbo collected their things, towels and clothes, resting them upon the large stone fireplace to warm, Fili and Kili filling their baths with the embers below burning bright. Bilbo looked into the large tubs and all but _jumped_ in himself, though restrained himself. The nephews then brought a basket of flower petals to Thorin, questioning him. He looked at them and Bilbo laughed. “Comforts of home.” Bilbo hummed and went to Fili and Kili’s bath. “So, this was reserved for royalty or lords and ladies of the house, years and years ago.” Kili was drawing his tunics off and letting them pool onto the floor when Bilbo raised his eyes to the younger Durin’s- his cheeks lit _red_ as he tossed the roses in. “U-Uh…” Fili had followed suit, their eyes lifted to Bilbo’s eager to hear the rest of the story. Bilbo swallowed thickly, and turned his eyes to the bath, tossing in a fair deal of the petals into their bath. “I-It’s so you smell decent. Baths were quite a luxury not afforded to those of poorer families, and even nobles only were given one once a month, maybe twice if you were _really_ important. It took a lot of work.”

            Thorin was amused, watching the scene with twinkling eyes. Fili and Kili drew their slacks down, oblivious to the writer’s _clear_ hesitations and avoidant eyes. The two brothers though, upon hearing a bath was not _regular,_ stared at Bilbo as if he had spoken blasphemy.

            “No,” Kili was slinking within. Unbeknownst to him, Bilbo’s hand shakily dropped in a whole _clump_ of petals at the si-sight of… Bilbo had not seen the nephews _fully_ derobed s-since that first afternoon at the lake. Though it did _not_ lose its potency. “I’d make them do the hard work.” Kili commanded Fili to join who slipped into the warm and scented water with a hum himself. Bilbo had straightened from the bath in time to catch a smooth and _golden_ leg rise over the edge of the stone tub and… Bilbo rolled his eyes as he returned to Thorin, who was still dressed. He had _hoped_ the adventurer would have stripped or at least _sunk_ into the water b-by now. So, Bilbo hesitated tossing in the flowers, offering the basket to Thorin, questioning silently if he wanted to smell.

            “Roses?”

            “It was a royal’s scent,” Thorin raised a whole bud and inhaled it, though he did one of the oddest things Bilbo had ever seen- the rose still at his nose, he inhaled and… opened his eyes to look at Bilbo over the rose, before looking away, tossing it to the bath. Bilbo’s body was set ablaze at the look, smoky, and full of… curiosity. A sort of strange playfulness. Lavender and roses littered the water’s edge after the writer tossed them in. Bilbo was the first to… disrobe without looking to Thorin. The adventurer had yet to undress, and Bilbo made stripping an easy and quick task so that he could look to the water instead of…

            “You really wanted a bath, Master Baggins, your clothes are still on the ground,” Thorin had tutted, bending over to reach for them, resting them on the chair nearby where he began to _displace_ his own clothes- his coat and tunics. Bilbo felt his throat grow tight, mouth hanging open a bit before he saw Thorin turn to face him. The writer dropped his eyes to playing with his legs to _wash_ them. When Thorin’s fingers fiddled with his belt, Bilbo spent a good amountof time washing his face and soaking his hair. Finally, he heard the splash of Thorin stepping within the bathe with a soft hum. M-Maker, he’d never gotten _used_ to the sight of seeing the three Durin men’s bodies; carved all in different ways from gorgeous _marble_ it had seemed.

            Bilbo admitted he had lost _plenty_ of weight, but he knew he’d never have the definition the others sported- that was not what bothered him so. It was the way their bodies made him feel, particularly, the more he spent gazing at Thorin’s, the more he would feel heat coil in _very_ familiar places… M-Maker. Bilbo let his eyes flicker up to Thorin who’s arms were sprawled along the edge of the bath, head resting against the edge too, eyes closed softly. Bilbo gulped, let his eyes flicker over to the brother’s who were half cleaning and laughing about something or another, hands wandering in places the writer was _sure_ they shouldn’t do in polite company.

            He groaned and when his eyes returned he found Thorin gazing at him with a smile. “Want me to wash your back for you?” Bilbo’s cheeks lit red.

            “W-What- Why… Why would…” though he knew the answer.

            “You were staring,” he tossed his head towards his nephews who were now chest to back, Fili washing Kili’s hair, chatting about something unimportant. Bilbo gulped and Thorin’s eyes rested upon Bilbo’s face. “And I have insisted, I am not like my nephews, in behavior, before to soothe your… trembling.” Bilbo shot his own back to meet Thorin’s, blinking rapidly as if trying to _memorize_ what was happening. The writer thought for a long while, though it must not have been long for Thorin was still waiting _quite_ patiently.

            A-And slowly… carefully, Bilbo turned, his legs drawn to his chest and scooted back the _minimum_ distance he needed to be for Thorin’s arms to reach his back. The adventurer just chuckled, sitting up and drawing the small bar of soap from the edge up, lathering it into the water first. He moved forward and rested a hand upon his shoulder and Bilbo gasped. “Keep that shade of red, and they’ll wonder what sorts of perversion I am engaging with you.” He teased at Bilbo’s ear and Bilbo’s shoulders fell then.

            “They would, wouldn’t they,” he tutted and glanced over and Thorin gave him a soft smile. “Fine.” He glanced over to the brothers who were slowly peaking over at him and their Uncle then. “They’re looking.” Bilbo coughed, looking to the wall and Thorin laughed.

            “Easily spooked, mind your business, you two,” Thorin chastised without raising his eyes, rubbing the soap against Bilbo’s back. “I mean it, don’t you two have one another to fondle over?” He finally glanced over, and their eyes owled as they turned away quickly, giggling though. “There, better for you?”

            “Piss off, Thorin,” the writer mumbled, head bowing. “You did that to embarrass me.”

            “I would _never,”_ though it was a tease, Bilbo found himself smiling all the same. His fingers rubbed up Bilbo’s neck, and _loved_ that he received the same reaction as before; a shiver, a gasp, and a playful glare sent over a shoulder.

            “Master Durin, you are _quite_ like your nephews,”

            “Refined, I call it refined,” He returned and stroked his neck a second time, rubbing his thumb over the top bone of his spine- but that gasp had… elicited _more_ than a smile from Thorin… a flood of heat ran over him, despite _sitting_ in a tub of _quite_ warm water. Chills appeared upon Bilbo’s pale skin, darker than the adventurer remembered from their travels. It was still soft, but it did not hold the pampered condition in which it had before… Bilbo was humming contently, reaching for another bar of soap to get his legs and when Thorin’s hands finished- Bilbo slipped- falling back against Thorin.

            He caught himself, gripping the edge of the bath- sure they had slept together, bundled in layers and blankets, but n-never had… he co-could feel… he scrambled to straighten. He had not expected to have placed so much _trust_ into those dexterous hands, that he would _fall_ back expecting them to be there. Bilbo whipped around as quick as he could, apologetic but Thorin was grinning. He encouraged the writer to turn and so… _Thorin_ offered his back to Bilbo instead of speaking. Maker, Bilbo didn’t know whether to be _upset_ Thorin didn’t want to talk about what had just transpired, that he’d _felt_ a good portion of the front of his… body that… he was sure he’d… _Maker, help me calm my heart!_

            For the second time he was allowed to explore scars and muscles, dips and hills of Thorin’s back. His throat was tight as his hands washed, though not with haste. They were given a rest, a time for relaxing, though Bilbo was sure that was mostly _because_ of him. Well, he wouldn’t let a good place to rest and a bath go to waste. Thorin rested his arms on either side of the bath, silently giving permission to Bilbo to wash his arms. They were the usual part Bilbo saw most of, admired them during summer when he was in long and short sleeved tunics. His skin was tanned, it must have just _remained_ this earthy gold color regardless of the year or season. It was oddly soft, perhaps it was the soap taking affect, either way, Bilbo did not mind the new skin allowed. He stroked down his arm and then moved to the other, lifting a heavy muscle which had Thorin snort, chuckle a bit. “A bit ticklish you know.” Bilbo gawked a bit-

            “Really?” Bilbo lightly traced a few lines _under_ that strong muscle towards his armpit which had the adventurer lowering his arm with a chuckle, unbidden.

            “Yes, really,” Thorin giggled over his other shoulder.

            “I never would have thought,” Bilbo beamed and continued to wash his back, hands tickling up Thorin’s neck, under wet hair. “Never expected the adventurer to have a… a sensitive side like that.”

            “There are other places,” Thorin began to smirk. “Master Baggins, that I am sensitive too.” He craned his head over his shoulder. “Places that would elicit more than a giggle should your hands feel… _adventurous_ today.” And Bilbo knew where Thorin was going with this, to rile him up and make him fuss. So…

            He’d give in.

            “T-Thorin!” he feigned, though the smirk told Bilbo the man believed him. “You are! Oh, Maker, you are a deviant, t-turn about so that I can finish already!” he pouted and Thorin chuckled, before turning his head away again. “I-I could h-hardly imagine where th-those places would be!”

            “I think you might have a good idea!” Thorin was grinning to himself, Bilbo knew. He could practically _hear_ that smile.

            “Oh?” And Bilbo leaned forward, his hands deft in their approach. “Would…” a swift pinch to an unsuspecting nipple- “here be a place?” The gasp, the utter _shake_ Thorin experienced from the gentle pinch was enough for Bilbo to lean back with _pride._ “Oh, Master Durin, I should have warned you about challenging a Baggins. We never give up.” Thorin half _turned_ his entire _body_ around.

            “You just!”

            “I did!”

            “N-No shame at all!”

            “Of course I have no shame!” Bilbo moved and pinched the other with a smirk. “You started it, shouldn’t have if you couldn’t take it.” That had Thorin’s mouth dropping open. So Bilbo courteously closed it by lifting his chin. “Don’t look so shocked, Thorin. It’s not the first time I’ve been crafty.”

            “I-Indeed,” but it was with a grin as Thorin turned about fully, reclining against the back of the tub and… touched one his nipples. “I still can’t believe it.” But Bilbo’s eyes sharpened upon the nub that had been tugged by Thorin- “You did it without looking!” The adventurer murmured in disbelief.

            “I have a photographic memory,” Bilbo said smugly.

            “Really?” Bilbo nodded to Thorin. “Then how come you still get flustered when you see my nephews, bare as the day they were born, if you’re memory is… _photographic?”_ Bilbo sputtered, which caused Fili and Kili to perk.

            “Are you guys talking about us-“

            “Yes-“ “No!”  

            However, the rest of their time bathing was peaceful, despite their teases. Bilbo was the first to get out, quickly padding himself dry and all but _rushing_ out of the bathhouse, though not before being given a _wondrous_ view of Thorin rising out of the water like a… damned _god._ Bilbo had barely slipped his smalls on before he decided changing _elsewhere_ would serve him better. would do him well.

            They spent their time in the inn, talking to the owners, who were cousins, relatives of the other inn that was full. Bombur was a heavy-set fellow who maintained their kitchens at all times, Bifur assisted in between hunting and making sure all their guests were well-taken care of, their rooms tidied, food replenished, and Bofur was the bartender and innkeeper. He was a friendly sort and Bilbo found himself warming up to their hospitality, the four men often finding themselves chatting to the cousins about something or another. With Yule arriving as well as Solstice, Fili and Kili thought it wise they venture out for gifts for each other, if they were going to be spending the holiday in town, they might as well celebrate with magnificence.

            Bilbo encouraged the idea, in fact, was more than excited to go and see the town once more, decorated in all its Yule celebrations and festivities. When they finally stepped out into the cold weather, each snuggling into their warm furs, it dawned upon Bilbo he had… _no idea_ what to get for them. None of them. He glanced around as they huddled together, talking about _something…_ Bilbo…

            Bilbo’s eyes were still wandering the streets, hoping to find something that would jolt his memory. Nothing. Not a damnable thing stood out and when he was shaken to bring his attention back, Thorin looked concerned, moreover, _worried._

            “You alright?”

            “I’m… I’m fine, just thinking of what to get,” Bilbo muttered, but Thorin remained unconvinced. He didn’t pester the writer though. Instead, he declared that he would take his nephews and—“Wait a moment!” Bilbo whined then. “Why are you taking them both—“

            “I need help—“

            “Well I need help too!” Bilbo huffed, but Thorin almost looked amused.

            “And what do you need help wit—“

            “You’re just dense, Thorin!” Bilbo stomped and- realized how childish he looked and straightened. “Maker, never mind!” He huddled his furs closer to his neck- frustrated- and turned to head down the street. He knew where they were, it wasn’t getting lost that worried him, it would be easy to just ask as well. And the snow was light, he would not become sick from it, not with so much food and warm hearths and firepits burning. No, he needed help in a department he was usually quite good at.

            And he always the best gift-giver during family get-togethers, always the ones that his youngest of cousins would boast about and talk about the most. Yet now, he was in a town he did not know, struggling to find his way around. It wasn’t the town he was trying to find a way through either, but his trembling thoughts and feelings that assaulted him- _I have not a clue where to start._ He looked around as if it would help again but he sighed, throwing his hands up.

            Thorin and his nephews watched the writer storm off and come to a standstill at the corner of the block, looking about as if suddenly lost. Thorin hadn’t a _clue_ as to why the writer had snapped so and stormed off, they’d all been having an enjoyable time.

            “Uncle, maybe one of us should go with Mister Bilbo?” Kili murmured cautiously.

            “What- why? I need your help more than he does,” A man who’s only adventures had ever been to his neighbors and family’s house- who’s only knowledge of the men before him were… what he’d seen.

            “But Uncle, he doesn’t know us very well, surely one of us will be enough?” Fili insisted.

            “Fili! You go with Mister Bilbo and I’ll stay with Uncle!” Before Thorin could muster a retort, the blonde was darting off, hooking his arm around Bilbo’s neck and happily saying something and pointing back. Thorin found all of this… annoying- he had asked for his nephews help because… this was not something he would _ever_ admit he was good at. Because he wasn’t. “It’s alright Uncle, I know Mister Bilbo well enough, I’ll help you out!” They started walking in the other direction through town.

            “And how, Kili, do you know the writer better than I?” Kili turned to face him with curious, chestnut eyes. “ _I_ have spent more time with him, we have more similarities, No, I _asked_ you two to come for something more than just _whimsy_ gifts.”

            “Sure, Uncle,” Kili nodded. “But I bet you don’t know Mister Bilbo’s favorite color?” Thorin paused. “I bet you also don’t know his favorite flowers, they’re daffodils and snap-dragons, by the way.” These were useless things to know—“I bet you didn’t know Bilbo fancies himself a little pen collector too.”

            “He collects… pens?”

            “Fountain pens, as works of art,” Kili was looking through some knickknacks, which had Thorin pausing. “And did you know his crest is an acorn? It’s really cute, he carries it on him.” Thorin had seen it. The acorn stamped on every sealed letter they’d sent out. He’d even remembered seeing it on a few of journal pages. He hadn’t thought it might-“Uncle, you might spend time with Mister Bilbo, but when Fili and I are with him, we spend time _learning_ about him, not just spending _time_ in his company.”

            Awfully wise for the 18 year old. Oddly wise, and very true. He might have known the basics of Bilbo, that he was an avid writer, liked to garden, ran a wine business, enjoyed sarcasm and jokes and the scenery… but beyond _enjoying_ his company he knew little else of the writer. And that made him _freeze_ inside. He’d _never_ be able to find something that really spoke to him about Bilbo at this rate- he was sure Kili had seen a dozen things already. Was going to make suggestions...

            “That is… oddly wise of you,” Thorin managed to say instead.

            “I know,” Kili paused. “I’m getting old.” The youth grunted, though not realizing perhaps, the depth of his Uncle’s _disturbance_.  “You wanted my help though, to get something really good for Mister Bilbo?”

            “Er…”

            “Cause, I want to help,” Kili was absolutely beaming. Maybe he _did_ know the depth of his Uncle’s worry. They spent the day browsing, Thorin picking up a few things for his nephews without the notice of the youngest, and was _advised_ upon certain things the writer might enjoy, though not told directly. He would be pointed to a shop Kili had run through and said something in there, in which they spent _several_ shops glancing about in, though none had Thorin stepping out with a thing. Kili _did_ mention a few things specific because his Uncle _just_ didn’t know Bilbo like his brother and himself apparently knew the writer.

            Though when Thorin stepped out with one gift, the youngest writhed, and told his Uncle he had done a job well done. En route back to the inn, Thorin sent his nephew away to check a camera store, wanting to pick up some things for his camera and more film- but Thorin became distracted. There was a new camera out, smaller than his own, quiet though, easy to use, the lens a decent size…

_Well, tis Yule, might as well!_

            He could only hope that Fili and Bilbo’s adventures shopping had gone as good as his own.

            Fili was absolutely _taken aback_ Bilbo knew much about their Uncle by _guesses._ Perhaps it was just his observation, his ability to look through someone’s things and just _know._ Fili also learned Bilbo was, at heart, a sneaky creature. He would walk into a store with Fili and announce after his purchase, that the brothers would _love_ what he had gotten. In which, Fili would roam back through the store, trying to figure out what it was Bilbo had bought. The writer was crafty, and near the end of their day, Bilbo had something for them all, save their Uncle.

            “I… I know him, Fili,” Bilbo murmured as they sat to eat their corn-on-the-cob. “But I don’t know if Yule is his uh, holiday. I don’t think he much likes gifts.”

            “No, he’s not as festive,” Fili shrugged. “I’m not really sure if he doesn’t like gifts, he’s always liked the ones mother and Uncle bought, and us too.” Bilbo looked off.

            “I just… I see so much and none of it would work,” He sighed and Fili patted Bilbo upon the back.

            “Come on, you’ll find something, I know it!” He glanced around and spotted a leather shop. “Let’s check out there! This city is a place of craft, they may not have as much as others, but theirs are second to none!” Bilbo sighed and was dragged inside. Their work was impressive, leather armors, to boots and even adventurer gear. They even had just warm cloaks and blankets of the finest quality…

            But what caught Bilbo’s eyes was unlike anything he’d seen. A large sleeveless cloak, it might as well have been a _blanket._ The leather was soft and moveable, dyed a deep sapphire. The fur was silver and gray, lining the neck and fringing down the rest of the way. Thorin needed a coat. Needed a parka that was moveable, was flexible… Bilbo was shocked at the price- but it had been worth it. He showed it to Fili who awed it, asked who it was for and when he said Thorin, the blonde just beamed. “Uncle won’t know what hit him.” They were on their way back when Bilbo saw a jewelry shop with hundreds of different jewels and gems. Fili sighed, he had been excited to get back for a bath. When Bilbo heard as much, he released him invoking a bit of guilt in Fili. The blonde said he could wait, and instead, padded off to get food for the four of them. Bilbo approached the store and was greeted warmly by an older woman, said her husband and his crew mined these, and their sons crafted them.

            The writer let her know he was just browsing, but then he came to diamonds, then… to a singular white jewel on its own. It glowed in a way the others did not. Almost like moonstone… but _better._ He was awing at it’s carven shape when she said they weren’t sure what sort of gem it was.

            “You’re… not sure?” She shook her head. My husband said our eldest discovered it, but he couldn’t identify it. We’ve had several other miners visit and try to figure out it’s origin but they really aren’t sure. It’s beautiful, but I can only sell it at it’s beauty.

            “I’ll take it-“

            “But darling, there are surely others-“

            “No, this one is… one of a kind,” he smiled and she sighed, and asked what sort of tie he wanted. He picked the most… robust one he could find, a pewter linked necklace to hang the stone. He was proud of it when he left, and Fili asked what he got, curious, holding a large bag of goodies. “How much food did you buy?”

            “Enough,” Fili teased and they returned, though when Bilbo saw Thorin in the pub, chatting to Bofur, Bilbo’s heart sunk _immediately._ He’d quite forgotten that Thorin didn’t _wear_ jewelry. Save for the clasp in his hair, and _maybe_ a ring. He might have caught the pewter crest of his family- assumingly that’s what it was- upon his hand, but it was often stowed in a breast pocket when dangerous. He’d… he’d just have to wait. They all wrapped their gifts in secret, though Bilbo wasn’t sure how that was even managed with Fili and Kili darting into their room asking for help to wrap or for tape or scissors or—

            “Dammit, will you stop _losing_ them!” Thorin finally stormed, handing his nephews all the materials. “Finish your presents and _then_ return the scissors!” He went out to drink, and Bilbo went to fetch him. “Why did you stop?” He snarled-

            “You took my scissors,” Thorin paused in his rage and, bowed his head, allowing a smile to cross his face.

            “S-Sorry,” he murmured and Bilbo chuckled.

            “Seeing you in a rage is pretty hilarious,” Bilbo added.

            “You two have kids?” Bofur chimed and both writer and adventurer blushed.

            “Uh, no, I don’t, he does,” Bilbo tossed his head to Thorin.

            “A-And they’re really not mine, they’re my nephews,” he tossed his head back to their room. “Sounds like we’re an abashed couple.” Thorin snorted and Bilbo agreed, and Bofur seconded that.

            “You two aren’t—“

            “N… no,” Bilbo said after a moment. “I’m a writer.”

            “I travel,”

            “We’re writing a book together,” but Bofur had the largest grin.

            “Aye, lads, you two sound like you’re making that up, you know,” the bartender went to hand off a few ales to others before returning. “Sort of cute, you two.”

            “I’m not cute,” Thorin huffed.

            “I am though, I’ll take the compliment for us,” Bofur laughed and the three of them fell into easy conversation, though Bofur’s eyes twinkled at them, he said nothing more of their _trip_ nor their _relationship_ to one another again.

            That night Fili and Kili dug out Thorin’s fiddle, passing it off whilst Bilbo was out, chatting to Bofur about maybe sending out the sixth chapter. Thorin sighed, but took up a comfortable chair in the living room, plucking the strings to tune it before the fire. Fili and Kili were prepping some food when Bilbo came in. He’d never seen hide nor hair of the aforementioned fiddle, but seeing Thorin hold in his hands, plucking the strings for their proper note…

            It was like he’d seen it before. It was a strange feeling and Thorin peered upwards, offering a small smile.

            “I was coerced,” he pointed and Bilbo giggled. “I believe tonight is also Solstice.”

            “Well that would be why the sun is gone,” they blinked, the three Durin’s at Bilbo.

            “Tr-Truly?” Kili wiggled a bit.

            “Yeah, it set but two hours ago,” He rubbed his neck, stretching a bit. “I suppose sitting in front of a fire changes that…” he chuckled and moved to get comfortable as well in one of the chairs, Fili and Kili bringing plates of meat and fruit. “What do you three do for Solstice? Yule, whatever.” Bilbo waved his hand. “I just combine them both into a week.” He shrugged. “Or whatever day my family has planned.”

            “We usually do too,” Kili sat, plucking some grapes into his hand. “We always light candles, but I fear that might have been for ma and da to see where we were, wiggling to find our presents.”

            “You two did that a lot as kids,” Thorin straightened a bit, resting his fiddle to his chest. “Wandering around in the wee hours, searching for gifts we had hidden away.” Thorin chuckled. “Or you two would stick your hands into jars of food we had spent the day preparing for the day after.” He wiggled his bow at the two of them. “None of that this year. Understand?” They nodded.

            “Sometimes, we would write something we wanted to be rid of, for the new year,” Fili said. “Or a hope for the new year. We’d write it and toss it into the fire.”

            “Uncle mostly played music,” Kili giggled and Thorin rolled his eyes.

            “It was a very old and very… _rural_ ceremony,” Thorin flicked each string. “Ancient. Such traditions are not as present in the world, it’s all about the Maker and his worth.” Thorin made a crude gesture towards the sky. “The lot of them don’t do a damn.”

            “Uncle!” Thorin eyed his nephews.

            “Anyway, it was mostly a hope for the new year, a prayer, obviously, one could accomplish this goal _within_ the new year,” Thorin gave another few strokes before, he raised the fiddle to his chin. “I don’t partake, I have nothing I wish for a new year, nor anything I wish to let go.”

            “I want to see more of the world,” Kili encouraged. “Could we do it anyway?”

            “I don’t mind,” Thorin murmured and let out a few lazy notes from his fiddle. They spent their time lighting candles with Bilbo’s help, Thorin playing music at the chair. It seemed night rolled on _forever_ too. Bilbo wondered when they would open all their gifts, but Thorin said that the _true_ debauchery of the day was two days _following_ Solstice, so they should do it then too.

            And was Bilbo surprised. The inn had slowly been filled with people, very few taking residence there however. The mass of people within the halls was _boisterous._ Loud. Bilbo and Thorin made their way to the bar, Fili and Kili managing to squeeze in a while later. There was a tree lit up in all corners of the hall, fireplaces roaring with life- the air was intoxicatingly fun. There was holly that lined the ceiling and Bilbo found himself witness to several _roaring_ and passionate kisses.

            “M-Maker…” Bilbo swallowed.

            “Not a kissin’ sort, Mister Bilbo?” Bofur laughed. “You look like a romantic yerself.”

            “Well, I am,” Bilbo and Thorin now saw the happy couple all but _falling_ over in drunken passion. “I prefer to be the sort who is _aware_ of the kiss, and participate, rather than have… ew… a tongue wagging all over my face.”

            “Why, lad, that’s the best part!” Bilbo groaned.

            “No, no it isn’t,” Thorin laughed and secretly agreed. Fili and Kili went off to dance and music filled the halls, and Bilbo thought this was the perfect way to celebrate the holiday season- in a warm inn, filled with good-natured folk and friends. Fili and Kili returned with a little stick of holly and as a joke, tied to their Uncle’s ponytail, giggling.

            “Now anyone shorter than you must _kiss_ our Uncle,” though Bilbo was _not that_ short, he eyed it with curiosity, often flicking it to remind Thorin a couple was kissing behind him.

            Thorin oddly, kept it there, saying he was too drunk or didn’t care enough to remove it, and teased, perhaps he’d get a kiss from someone lucky. Bilbo sighed though often checked _often_ to make sure none would harass his companion. As time wore on, their drinks doubled now, a stranger came up beside him, cracking a joke, and Bilbo turned- and soon, was deep in conversation, half drunk himself after the amount he’d drank.

            “Why, you are quite the catch,” the man had teased, tugging his coat, then drawing his hand- “My apologies, you are just so well-dressed for a place as this.” He chuckled. “By the way, I haven’t introduced myself, my name is Bard.”

            “My name is Bilbo,” he turned then, happily smiling at the man. He was older, maybe his age even, dark hair, a small tail trailing down his hair to mix with low black curls. “And no, I am not from around here. I’m writing a book with a friend of mine.”

            “Oh I see, a creative sort,” he reached for Bilbo’s hand and the writer allowed it. “You must be well sought after, if you are with the fur-traders of the north.” Bilbo blushed and giggled, though drew his hand away before a kiss was placed.

            “Good Bard, I am not drunk enough to be swooned quite so easily,” He huffed then. “You will just have to try harder.”

            “I intend to, Bilbo, I intend to,” he scooted a little closer, and Bilbo did the same. It had been a while since he could flirt, since he could appreciate another so openly- however, there was this tug of guilt that would snatch him. It was fierce and it stung and quite a few times, Bard asked what was wrong and Bilbo would straighten and say nothing.

            Eventually the man asked if he would join him for a smoke- but going outside seemed ridiculous. But the man was persuasive, was easily able to lure Bilbo down.

            “Thorin,” the man turned. “I’m just going for a quick smoke with this trader.” He inclined his head to Bard.

            “You could smoke right here,” Thorin quirked. “You hate the snow.”

            “It won’t be long, and,” Bilbo giggled, drawing out Thorin’s pipe. “Any good excuse to show off your talent.” He stroked the wooden pipe and Thorin felt a flutter- had he been _less_ intoxicated he might have argued.

            “Well, don’t stay too long, traders hand’s are rough and stained,” he teased, though he said it with a bit of… well. A snarl but Bilbo took it for a dry joke.

            “You’ll come get me, won’t you?” He teased and squeezed Thorin’s arm fondly before he felt the tug of Bard. He was drawing out his pipe, thrilled to have met another to share _adventures_ with, but before they could even get outside, Bard stopped him. “Oh, what now?” he teased. “Something silly you have to warn me? Trust me, I may not be a hardened adventurer, but I am quite aware of the cold weather.”

            “Hardly, Bilbo, I am not concerned for your knowledge,” he grinned and stroked Bilbo’s jaw to which the writer knocked his hand away, drunkenly with a small smile.

            “Then, what, Bard, do you want? Stopping us short of a good smoke after Solstice?” He teased in return and Bard got this… _grin_ on his face, and Bilbo felt like he’d seen it before. _He had._ He just hadn’t seen it on Bard. He’d seen it on other people.

            “Do you not know, wee writer, take a look,” his eyes lifted and Bilbo swallowed. _I’m going to regret this…_ But hazel eyes flitted upwards to a high-beam above them, a support, and upon it dangled a single holly branch, lit with berries and fresh green leaves. “It’s a tradition.” Bilbo opened his mouth to speak- _An awful tradition-_ but his mouth was claimed _soundly._

            Bard was tall, a fair bit taller than he, and obviously a man at work here. His build was more lithe than Thorin’s, but nonetheless had the strength to… _keep_ Bilbo close. The kiss… Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d _call_ it a kiss- it was mostly tongue, and a lot of humming and gasping and mouthing. It felt sloppy and particularly _wetter_ than necessary… he groaned and his fingers found Bard’s arms, his coat, tried to push away, but the crowd was useless. As always. Cheers echoed in his ears, and he squirmed, jibes being made he was a wiggly sort!

            Of course, the hollering attracted Thorin’s eyes, and Bofur’s.

            “Oh, dear, isn’t that Mister Baggins?” Bofur asked, also concerned. Thorin glared outright, but did not move. “I think you should check in, he doesn’t look to enjoy the sort of pushy man… Bard tends to be.” Thorin rose and Bofur was glad _he_ was not Bard. Sure, Bilbo had a charming personality, but perhaps he was just a bit more wise to question the writer with a presence like Thorin beside him. The adventurer marched over, _just_ as Bilbo gave a large _heave_ from Bard-

            “E-Excuse you!” Bilbo squeaked out, attempting to _sound_ as offended as he felt before Thorin placed a hand upon his shoulder, drawing him _possessively_ against his chest. Bilbo gasped, eyes raising with a strange fear, before relieved at the sight of Thorin.

            “What _are_ you doing to my companion?” Thorin snarled- far too sober. He’d been pleasantly drunk, pleasantly appreciating the good vibes- until he had seen Bilbo struggle, until he saw the quivers others would overlook. It was like he had not drunk at all.

            “Doing, I believe it _was_ my business, good sir,” Bard’s eyes lowered from Thorin’s to Bilbo’s again. “And quite _his_ business.”

            “I believe, his business is also mine to know,” Bilbo would have ruffled himself up at such a claim, but drunk he was dull, drunk… he could appreciate what Thorin was saying.

            “Truly? You have some say in his personal affairs?” Bard seemed to sober up as well, eyes narrowing. “Are you his mother? You certainly aren’t his lover, for the Maker’s sake, I wouldn’t let such a precious thing out of my sight.”

            “Then you’ve been mislead, clearly,” Thorin snarled but ducked down a bit. “You alright, dear?”

            “O-Of course,” Bilbo rasped. “I didn’t…” he stared at Bard. “You- you’re an awful sort, leading me on!”

            “Leading you on, dear writer, I merely wanted to spend a night with you, to woo you properly on this festive night!” Bilbo tutted at Bard’s reaction, but tensed when his hand was outstretched towards him.

            Thorin slapped it away. Bilbo almost laughed at the comical expression of _shock_ Bard had.

            “I do believe he’s made his point, Master Bard, you would do well to leave,” and Bard was dishonored. Bard hissed at them both, grunting that the _writer_ was a mischievous and deviant sort, weeding out the weakness in men’s hearts. “Oh yes, he is definitely good at finding the weakest points.” Thorin had returned the rant and Bard huffed, threw a fit, but otherwise left, the crowd _cheering_ for Bilbo’s savior- a kiss was demanded.

            Thorin tensed but spun Bilbo slowly. “Forgive me.” He whispered pressing a soft kiss to his lips, drawing away before it could be considered more than chaste. This pacified the crowd, and Bilbo felt a bit woozy, so Thorin tucked them against a wall nearby. “My you get into trouble when you’re drunk. And you said you don’t do anything crazy.”

            “M-Master D-Durin, I hardly think it was _crazy,”_ He returned the teased. “H-hardly comparable to a _threesome.”_ Thorin laughed then.

            “True indeed,”

            “I can’t believe you _did_ that,” Bilbo touched his cheek.

            “Did what?”

            “ _Rescue_ me!” Bilbo huffed. “How did you know… I…”

            “I heard, and Bofur might have insinuated that that Bard fellow was a playboy,” he gave a loose shrug, the merriment and drunken tingles returning with the writer safe and smiling once more. Bilbo sighed happily though, playing with his pipe and stuffing it back into his light coat.

            “Well, thank you,” He giggled. “Though I am not so much interested in the party anymore.”

            “We could retire?”

            “We’d be so _old_ Thorin,” Bilbo teased again but Thorin brought an around Bilbo, tugging him off the wall and down towards their room.

            “We _are_ old, Master Baggins,” he chuckled, though did not speak further as they stopped at their door.

            “And? Master Durin, you’re hardly retiring with me because of our age, you had something else in mind,” Bilbo beamed as Thorin unlocked their door, pausing to turn back to the writer. “Well, what is it?” Thorin allowed the writer to step inside first, shuffling out of his coat and resting it upon the back of a chair, spinning to stare at Thorin.

            “Tis Solstice, there are many things I was thinking we could do,” Bilbo was beginning to grin. “I do not recall your dislike of our conversations before over drink and a warm fire.” Thorin set the key aside, drew his own light coat off and rolling it to set upon the counter.

            “That would be a nice end to the more chaotic celebrations,” Bilbo gave a soft sigh and stretch.

            “Though I had another idea,” Bilbo perked as Thorin stepped forward. “I would remedy your earlier discomfort and distaste.”

            “My… discomfort?”

            “Bard and his… holly kiss,” Thorin chided, as if Bilbo could forget an awful encounter. “I did not see it to be one of _happy_ remembering.”

            “No, indeed,” Bilbo groaned, though he was far more interested in the proposition being offered that Thorin _hadn’t_ quite _said_ yet. “Though I do not understand how you would remedy the memory. It was quite an awful and traumatic experience. All waggling and unskilled tongue, just sloppy desperation.”

            “Ah, then truly, it was a kiss not worthy of the holiday season,” Thorin took another step forward, a grin emerging from under his beard.

            “Oh and _you_ could do better you think?” Thorin outright _beamed_ to Bilbo who was returning the growing elation.

            “I believe I could if given the chance,” Bilbo huffed. “I could ensure your Solstice was not spent upon philandering men and wishes.”

            “My, you have thought quite a lot about me, Master Durin,” Bilbo took a daring step forward, but a few inches from Thorin.

            “Tis Solstice, and… _I_ did participate in throwing a thought to the fire to let go,” He smiled and reached to stroke Bilbo’s shoulder, though pausing. “I would like to think less upon myself, and more upon you.”

            “Do you now?” Bilbo absolutely _flushed_ at the corny words- who would say such things?

            “If you would allow me a chance,” Thorin was grinning back- whatever this was, it wasn’t at all like the teasing and bantering with Bard. It was not at _all_ awkward nor forced, this seemed so _natural_ Bilbo could hardly _recall_ not kissing the man— Thorin had been leaning down before Bilbo drew back the slightest.

            “Now, Thorin, if you have the gall to woo me like anyone else, then you should also know that I will not give in to such a kiss unless done properly,” yes of course, it was Solstice after all, Yule after all. Holly was hung from nearly every support beam and doorway in the tavern.

            “Properly?” Thorin looked a bit stunned, but as Bilbo stood there looking smug, feeling _proud,_ he saw Thorin reach a hand back. “So if I were given permission to give you a proper kiss, I would need…” and Thorin’s hair fell from his ponytail. “A holly branch?” Bilbo’s mouth fell open, plum _forgotten_ that Thorin had such a twig tucked into his hair from his nephews. “My but a coincidence this is.” Thorin had never looked so smug himself, so playful, so genial, so… so…

 _Attractive._ Bilbo gulped hard and Thorin smiled, but lowered the holly branch to his side. “If it is unwanted, then I will not force it upon you, as Bard had done. If you would have me…” Bilbo was _speechless._ He could swear his heart had given out and that his lungs ceased to function, and that they only sprung back to working order through a few pats to his chest.

            “You wouldn’t just enclose me in an arm, and toss the holly above our heads?” Bilbo needed to clarify.

            “I am a gentleman,” Thorin reassured. “And I am also _not_ my nephews. Nor Bard.”

            “I think you’re a bit jealous,” Bilbo added.

            “Perhaps,” but he said nothing more, and patiently waited. That was a lot of trust, to place in another person, all for a cute little act. But the writer found himself grinning-

            “Then, we’ll see if you have some advantage over Bard,” Bilbo was blushing as he spoke, though, shy, a bit nervous too. “How well of a kisser does Master Durin proclaim to be?”

            “A very, _very…”_ hazel eyes caught the branch rising above their heads. “..good one.” It wasn’t sloppy for sure. Wasn’t just tongue or fierce and heaving breathing. It was soft, chaste even. Bilbo imagined Thorin’s beard to feel a lot different, but it tickled in a pleasant way, a tilt of his head had him _feeling_ whiskers alight against skin. It tingled and made him gasp. A free hand came to cup Bilbo’s cheek softly, gingerly- a touch Bilbo could never have expected Thorin to have, not with a lover at least-

            But then it struck him. They were not lovers! And this was certainly… certainly a kiss for such! Yet, they were also _not just_ friends either, were they? It was obvious there was something brewing between them something tender and sweet and _maybe_ even a bit passionate and wild. Thorin let his tongue trace Bilbo’s bottom lip to part it, Bilbo thought to deepen the kiss…

            The adventurer drew away, dropped the hand and holly from above their hands and lowered the other that had held his face so sweetly. “And? How well did I fare?” Bilbo rolled the question around for a bit. And without another thought-

            “I might need a second to judge more properly, you didn’t waggle that tongue of yours,” Thorin blushed at Bilbo’s words.

            “Must I raise the holly again?”

            “If you wish to… _prove_ how talented you are,” So Thorin did. And if Bilbo believed Thorin to have a gentle touch as a lover, he was gravely mistaken. Thorin also had an unyielding side- a _passionate_ side. His mouth was covered again as a tongue swiped his lips begging entry. And Bilbo allowed it, opening his mouth and gasping. Thorin might have _had_ several drinks, but he was no sloppy inexperienced kisser. He had been a lover once, to many, Bilbo had suspected, and now he used all he’d learn upon the writer. It made his knees weak, that tongue counting teeth and rolling over the roof of his mouth.

            Bilbo had to gasp for air, but Thorin allowed it only to turn his head slightly the other way, diving his tongue back within his wet cavern. He teased Bilbo’s tongue, coiled about it before the writer sucked upon Thorin’s, eliciting a moan deep in his throat. It was then the writer extended his hands to fist within Thorin’s tunic, and a strong arm encircled Bilbo’s waist to hold him close and upright. Their bodies were flushed together, the heat of drink and their bodies making Bilbo feel delirious and dizzy. Though he suspected it was Thorin’s _kiss_ making him feel dizzy more so than the drink. Thorin wrapped the hand holding the holly around Bilbo’s shoulders, to cup the back of his neck, humming as he drew away, a parting nibble to his bottom lip. He looked cocky.

            Thorin had _every_ right to feel that way too.

            Bilbo had never been so red, so flustered or so _breathless_ in all his life over a kiss, drunk or not. He’d have far more drinks than tonight and done far more _raunchy_ things and never… _never_ had his knees buckled in _weakness_. His chest was _tight_ and singing, ready to _burst_ but all Bilbo could do was try and breathe and look up into this _glowing_ satisfied blue gray eyes.

            “If I didn’t know any better, I would say I have done a fair job,” Thorin murmured, slowly loosening his hold upon the writer. “My, but you glow as the lights upon the trees are!” Bilbo drew away from Thorin nonchalantly, rolling his tongue about in his mouth to try and mimic what the adventurer had done- it still made him tingle. “And? Please don’t tease and keep my results to yourself.”

            “Well, I mean,” Bilbo pouted a bit. “It was exquisite, really.” Bilbo smiled as did Thorin, a bit more… _confidently._ Oh he’d make sure Thorin would remember _who_ won these sort of games! “But…”

            “Wait, but?” Thorin straightened. “What was wrong?”

            “I have _had_ better,” Bilbo admitted. “Not by a lot, mind you, but in my books, you have not learned from the master yet.” He pointed to himself.

            “Then teach me,” it came out so naturally, so _quickly_ and so _earnestly_ Bilbo wasn’t sure anymore if Thorin was joking or not. Their eyes locked for quite a while, silently arguing and guessing. “If you tell me, I will only get better.” A wink! He _winked_ at him.

            “Are you upset with that Thorin? Not being number one?” He giggled and walked towards their room but heard Thorin had not moved. He was still clutching the holly branch tightly, he looked _dejected._

            “And if I said I was?” A whisper, barely audible over the dulled cheering in the lobby. Bilbo blinked… had Thorin…

 _Had Thorin been serious?_ It made his chest _pang_ oddly, he’d never felt such a feeling before. Such a _throb_ there before. The adventurer did not move, did not step forward. So Bilbo did. He came and took the holly branch from Thorin’s hand, and eyed it.

            “Well, I do have room for one student,” Thorin’s eyes lifted, either from what Bilbo had said, or that he realized he was _brooding._ “But, Master Durin, you have to use more than a holiday and a simply _holly_ branch to woo me. I expect it to be proper like, no cheating.” Bilbo grinned and raised the branch above their hands, standing upon his toes to do so. “Happy Solstice, Thorin.” A simple soft kiss was left upon Thorin’s lips before Bilbo turned to their room, stretching before the fire.

            “You mean that?”

            “If you can woo me, and I won’t cheat, I promise, I’m easy to woo anyway,” he pointed with a giggle. “Romantic.” This was… incredibly fun. To have a friend like this to… to have someone a bit _more_ than just that. But not quite the package deal.

            “Then I won’t disappoint,” Thorin blushed, sitting upon his bed. “Truly, you weren’t impressed by my kiss?”

            “If you keep pestering, I’ll call the deal off, Master Durin, you’re like a child as a drunk,” Bilbo came and sat beside Thorin with his journal, beaming. Thorin quirked though, looking to it. Bilbo skipped a few pages and drew but a single weird oblong shape, then, handed his pencil and journal back to Thorin.

            “Draw something,”

            “And what are we doing?”

            “I draw a weird shape and you make a picture out of it, come now, it’ll be far funnier tomorrow when we’re sober,” Bilbo teased and moved to flop into Thorin’s bed with a hum. So Thorin moved too, drawing up a pillow under his chest to lay on his stomach to draw.

            “You’re awful to give me a game as this, I can’t draw to save my life,” Thorin huffed, frustrated.

            “Then it is a good thing it’s just for fun,” Bilbo winked and leaned over, watching Thorin before pecking the adventurer on the cheek. “Perhaps a reward will encourage you?” Thorin turned to face Bilbo, who honestly swore his face was stuck in a grin, anytime their eyes met, neither could restrain the smiles that burst upon their lips.

            “Eh, depends on the reward, I suppose,” Thorin feigned disinterest.

            “Oh, I believe you’ll be encouraged to participate to your fullest,” Bilbo giggled. “Might get a chance to get a nice reward _and_ prove your new teacher a thing or two.” Thorin didn’t look to Bilbo though the writer could see his eyebrows were raised _high_ upon his forehead, his mouth agape. “Oh~ dear, I think I broke him.”

            “S-Stuff it,” Thorin snapped, his cheeks enflamed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been this… drunk.”

            “Oh I can tell,” Bilbo giggled. And well into the night they talked, giggled, drawing back and forth, or writing together. Their hands touched and fondled as they exchanged the pencil, sometimes the other would hold their hand, and write or draw something with it.

            Though neither leaned in for another kiss, neither took or stole one, or even asked.

            Bilbo was _sure_ Thorin would have. And he couldn’t _help_ the edge of disappointment that bubbled within as they curled into the same bed that night…

            As if they were stuck in the snow together again, warm, safe, and tucked in the embrace of a…

            Well…in the embrace of a special someone.

            However when they woke, neither felt like it was a special day. Bilbo groaned and tried to open his eyes but instantly ducked into Thorin’s chest with a moan. “Why is it _bright?”_ He hissed and Thorin laughed, though he too tried to open his eyes, moaning.

            “Maker you weren’t joking,” he breathed into Bilbo’s hair and slowly opened his eyes there, the soft blonde curls providing enough darkness to allow his eyes to adjust. Bilbo opened his eyes, gazing at skin, Thorin’s laces to his tunic undone down towards his stomach! He gave a hearty inhale and then a soft exhale, Thorin squirming for it. “Stop breathing down my chest.”

            “But it’s a nice chest,” they giggled and eventually figured out how to sit up. “My head is _throbbing.”_

            “My eyes just hurt,” He rubbed them for a moment, looking to Bilbo, a nice shirt ruffled from sleeping in it, hair tousled from drunken sleep, he looked… well.

            A bit too sexy for just _waking_ up with no… _conclusion_ to a… happy night. They had slept. _Just_ slept.

            “What are you staring at me so hard for?”

            “I’m trying to figure out why you look like you’ve…” he began to grin. “Well like you’ve had sex, because I do not feel like that _at all.”_ Bilbo’s cheeks were red in an instant, turning away to comb his hair with his hands desperately, adjusting himself.

            “I b-believe, Thorin, _y-you_ might have helped with th-that a bit!” He was flustered! The events of their night slowly rolling back into his memory, sleeping together was a thing they agreed upon when cold- they curled up last night without a whim!

            “I did?”

            “Y-Yes you did, feigning the innocent here,” Bilbo tutted, doing up his shirt as well. “You all but _rolled_ atop of me. Several times to either side of the bed.”

            “My apologies, though that doesn’t explain why you’re red,”

            “Here, let me roll all over you and moan, and see what color you turn,” But Bilbo was laughing as he said it, as his eyes turned to a… an open door. _The opened bedroom_ door, it was! “T… Thorin?” Thorin groaned a yes, standing to stretch and trying to draw his hair into a ponytail- giving up halfway unable to find a tie. “Did we… _close_ our bedroom door?” Thorin turned- eyes blown wide now. “I feel like we did.”

            “I feel that way as well, _but_ we could also _think_ that since I shut that front door,” Bilbo hummed.

            “No I feel like we shut it,” and then, together they said _“the nephews”._ Bilbo looked to the small looking-glass in their room, trying to look decent. “Whatever I look like, it won’t matter much.”

            “Let’s hope they’re still asleep so we can uh, freshen up, I feel like something died in my stomach,” Thorin groaned a bit, heaving a sigh. But then, he hissed- “Ow, what the…” he drew from under his shirt,… a piece of holly. “Oh,… that’s…”

            “Holly?” Bilbo blinked and stepped forward. “Guess we broke the branch, can’t be a good sign.” Thorin beamed and wiggled it above Bilbo’s head. “Um…”

            “Oh come now, a peck will do,” he insisted.

            “I thought I said I wouldn’t bow to that,” he folded his arms resolutely.

            “Just a peck, come, it’s tradition,” Bilbo rolled his eyes and stood upon his toes, a peck to his cheek, before he giggled. “What?” Thorin was still stunned Bilbo had even _kissed_ him. “What is it?”

            “Your beard, needs, oh dear, come here,” he raised his hands, combing through the whiskers to straighten them out, a few refusing to go in the right direction. “It was all, that a way.” Bilbo pointed and Thorin blushed, thanking the writer. “Now, come on, I want to wash… brush… this.” He gestured to himself- “It feels drunk too.” When they stepped out, Fili and Kili were laying on the couch together, legs tangled between one another, fiddling with whatever. They beamed when they saw Bilbo step out, then Thorin who rested a hand upon Bilbo’s shoulder and another to the wall to keep balance.

            “Oh ho~ it seems our Uncle and dear Writer might have had too much fun!” Fili teased with Kili giggling.

            “Uncle can hardly stand, did Mister Bilbo give you a run about?” Bilbo’s eyes _owled_ at the jokes, but it was Thorin who spoke up.

            “Quiet you two,” He warned. “We slept. That’s all, in a bed, cozy and that was it. No wandering hands, as I’m sure you two gossiped.”

            “But you two kissed under mistletoe~” they both sang.

            “Of course we did,” Thorin chided, stepping away from the writer to his nephews. “I wouldn’t have heard the end of shoving off Bard and rescuing Bilbo if I hadn’t.”

            “Oh, Uncle,”

            “So silly,”

            “That isn’t the kiss _we_ were talking about!” They were writhing on the couch.

            “You were here,” Bilbo whispered. “In the room?”

            “Sure were, Mister Bilbo,” Fili answered. “We went to our rooms early.”

            “Mostly because you two were so dull,” Kili continued. “But when we were getting ready to leave, to fetch you, we saw you two come in.”

            “And we saw you two bitter-banter between one another,” they both were all smiles and giggles, their Uncle and Bilbo slowly becoming mortified at the realization they had been caught _together_ in such an act. Drunk too.

            “And you kissed, Maker, Uncle, you really tried to impress Mister Bilbo!”

            “But he wasn’t having any of that, you need to get better!” Thorin groaned and rubbed his forehead though in annoyance.

            “Yes, we kissed, but it didn’t mean anything,” that ripped right through Bilbo.

            Sure it had been a drunken tease. But it had been fun, had been something Bilbo would have liked to remember as such- but that. That hurt more than it should have, more than Bilbo wanted too, and he did his best to school his face, _happy_ that the brothers were focused upon their Uncle. “It was a bit of fun between two drunk friends, just fun. Nothing more, so get those silly nonsensical ideas out of your head.” Thorin had turned to Bilbo, but he was already walking to the bath house and…

            Thorin felt something cold well up inside- Bilbo looked dejected. Like he’d just been told he would have no gifts this morning, or that he was unloved- something awful. “What did I say?” He whispered and Fili and Kili looked up, and followed his line of sight.

            “You said it didn’t mean anything,” the whole morning seemed to cave into suffering, into a dull and unhappy venture- this was the day they could exchange their gifts… “Those kisses…” Thorin’s brows furrowed.

            “Did they mean something?” Kili asked but Thorin didn’t say anything, instead, he padded after Bilbo to clean himself up, but whatever pain Bilbo had been wearing was gone. Cleaning his face and having his hair brushed and mouth refreshened seemed to… _remove_ whatever film had been upon the writer.

            “Gifts, I’m excited,” Bilbo murmured drying his face, looking to Thorin with a beam. “I uh, hope you like what I’ve gotten.”

            “I…” Thorin paused and Bilbo looked to him expectantly. “You know I didn’t mean what I said—“

            “Thorin, I’m an adult, I know it was fun and games, I had fun,” Bilbo smiled, though Thorin couldn’t find a fault in those eyes, no grimness that appeared, nothing. Maybe he… imagined it? No! “I’d _like_ your nephews not to think there was something between us, I get picked on as it is, imagine what they would say _then.”_ Bilbo giggled and left the bathhouse leaving Thorin feeling worse.

            “Yeah, imagine that,” his chest _burned._

            But Bilbo would not let him see what the words had done. For perhaps, in Bilbo’s drunkenness, he had come an epiphany he hadn’t realized sober—that he very much liked Thorin, and that it was an impossible sort of relationship. However, drunk, he could pretend, he could try to enforce something that would not ever happen. Fili and Kili looked dour when he stepped back into the living room.

            “It’s gift time, why so sour?” He asked and they perked a bit.

            “Did you and Uncle make up?”

            “Is Uncle _really_ a bad kisser?” Bilbo groaned- it seemed whatever had made _them_ disappointed was relieved upon seeing Bilbo smile.

            “Yes, just awful,” he teased. “How about this, I’ll tell you about it, but not around your Uncle. If you promise that and not to tease us like a couple, since we’re _not_ I’ll make you a hot cocoa like my mother made for me.”

            They were quiet the rest of the time and Thorin was gaping.

            “They’re quiet—“

            “I told them a secret,” they pretended to both zip their lips, grinning to their Uncle.

            “That’s always a bad idea,” Thorin moved to the piles of gifts, rooting through them as Bilbo came with hot cocoa’s for them all- of course laced with a bit of liquor. “Isn’t that _a worse_ idea to drink whilst hungover?” Thorin teased.

            “Can’t hurt _more,”_ the writer insisted. “Now, give me a gift.” He teased and moved to find a few for Fili and Kili. Their gifts all sorted out before each person, Bilbo and Thorin watched the brothers with rapt attention, paper and ribbon flying everywhere, falling into each others hair. The first out of their packaging were bracelets, carven from stone, oak and a few gems. Many were still blank, and they overlooked one another’s then, Thorin drew one out- staring and Bilbo laughed as they stared at him for an answer. “Um… they’re sort of like… charm bracelets?” He winced at the words. “Just… something silly. Any jeweler or smith can engrave a rune for something we’ve done. I’ve… marked all the things we’ve already, and left a bunch more blank.” Though he opened his own and drew it upon his wrist. “T-Tried to make them all unique to their uh… wearer.”

            “This is great!” Kili cheered. “I’m silver!”

            “Well, I’m _gold!”_ Fili teased and the brunette climbed over Fili to look at his.

            “Mine’s better,” though their eyes raised to Bilbo who blushed, his was green. They looked to Thorin and he raised his, a deep blue.

            “I know you guys don’t… wear jewelry…” he shrugged. “B-but…”

            “I do _now,”_ Fili insisted, slipping it on. Though it didn’t cease them from ripping into their other gifts. Thorin snorted as he opened the ones from his nephews first, as did Bilbo- Bilbo was given several new buttons for his torn coats he had kept, Thorin a whole new set of knives to whittle. Then came the _important_ gifts. Kili was the first to open the box with… a blade.

            “Wow!” He drew it out carefully, Fili’s eyes owling too at the sight of his brother’s blade. “I have my own hunting blade?” He turned to Bilbo, but he shook his head, pointing to Thorin.

            “His idea,”

            “Really Bilbo thought it first,” Bilbo rolled his eyes, but the brothers received matching sets, each with their own personal sheath too. Bilbo waited for them to unravel their gift from him, a set of matching cloaks and hoods, a deep gray and a deep yellow respectably for Kili and Fili.

            “Mister Bilbo, I was with you the whole time, when did you get these?” Fili gaped.

            “I’m sneaky,” he winked, smiling as he handed a very small gift from Thorin. Fili and Kili were already standing, moving to try on their hoods, rushing to their room to get dressed to _try them out._ “What’s this?”

            “F… From me,” Thorin smiled, waving a hand. Bilbo sighed as Fili and Kili came out to watch, nudging one another in excitement. Thorin looked _terrified_ and worried for the outcome of the gift. Bilbo unshed the paper, seeing a neat little case made of some sort of wood, polished and a deep mahogany. He lifted the little latch and opened it- a fountain _quill_ pen. It had different nibs too! All in a tight little compact case. It was elegant, but not so much that Bilbo would not _use_ it. He would use it for _everything_ he needed to pen.

            “T… Thorin,” Bilbo squeaked and Fili and Kili did too, pawing at one another. “G-Geez, boys, don’t you have s-snow to play in or s-something?” his voice broke and they giggled, bounding towards the door, giving the warning they didn’t want to see their Uncle or Bilbo _tied_ together when they returned. “I’m going to use it for _everything.”_ He smiled and played with the gorgeous white and black striped feather fondly. “And you say you’re bad a gift-giving.”

            “I had _a lot_ of help,” Thorin insisted, but Bilbo chuckled and drew the one he’d been saving for Thorin, but Thorin waved at him. “I have one more.”

            “I didn’t get you that much-“

            “It’s more than I’ve been given,” Bilbo felt his chest clench at the words and was given a rather _heavy_ box. Carefully he undid it and opened the box…

            What lay within… His mouth fell open and he drew out… a small camera. Nowhere near as bulky or as large as Thorin’s but, it was… portable. Had a smaller separate lens. It was sleek, meant for practice or the inexperienced photographer. “You uh, seemed to enjoy taking pictures, so I thought you might, enjoy your own.” Bilbo fondled the thing.

            “Does it have film already?”

            “It does,” Thorin chuckled and Bilbo flipped it on, raising it, looking through the lens at everything, adjusting the lens before it settled on Thorin, who… was grinning, hopeful. He bowed his head with a blush before raising it, a scene, Bilbo was sure, Thorin had caught of the writer hundreds of times without his notice. He clicked the picture and lowered it. “I thought you might enjoy taking up your own adventures when we’re done, even if it is of a vineyard, I’d like to see them.” Bilbo lowered the camera slowly and set it aside, hands fiddling with one another, then, drew Thorin’s gift from him back. “Hey-“

            “Thorin,” Bilbo waved, ceasing that hand from snatching the gift back. “I realized something. Just now, that… that no matter what I’ve given, it can’t even _come close_ to what you’ve given me.”

            “They’re not monetary worths-“

            “No, no of course not, I am not shallow like that,” Bilbo took a breath. “When I say what I got isn’t worthy, I don’t mean it towards money. You… You have given me so much _more_ than I could… than I could ever gift you.” Thorin frowned and opened his mouth, but Bilbo continued. “You hired me for a book and I’ve gotten far more than just a book to add to my list. I’ve _seen_ that world, Thorin.” His blue-gray eyes began to widen with realization. “I’ve gotten… I’ve gotten to see a world I’m writing, I got to visit a land of fantasy and battle, and elves and dragons and _dwarves_ and magic…” he fiddled with the bow of Thorin’s gift. “and there is nothing more valuable to me, nothing that could compare to _being_ in a book, Thorin, not for me. I’m… I’m able to _live_ in a world you’ve made, and I never would have seen it, touch it, taste it or smell it had I not…” he giggled then and Thorin huffed.

            “What? Had you not… what?”

            “Had you not come to my door back in summer,” Bilbo whispered. “There is no greater gift, Thorin, than you’ve given me.” Thorin was _quiet_ for a while, letting all that Bilbo said wash over him and smiled then. He stood and _snatched_ his gift from Bilbo’s arms.

            “No matter, I still want whatever you have given me,” Bilbo squeaked at the sudden gesture. “Worthy or not, you’re forgoing one grand thing in your little speech.”

            “An-And what is that?” He hissed, startled, but-

            “My opinion,” Thorin quietly unwrapped the gift. “That you believe what I’ve given you, a chance of a lifetime, as you say, is something you cannot regift to me, you are wrong.” Bilbo blinked, sitting at the edge of his seat. “Whatever you have given me must have been on your mind for some time, and therefore worth the effort, regardless if it _‘doesn’t compare’.”_ Bilbo swallowed thickly as Thorin lifted the box cover. “You shouldn’t take…” then… Thorin stopped himself. The leather coat that Bilbo had purchased exposed and the writer cringed a bit. Thorin began to draw it from it’s box, setting the box aside- Thorin’s face had dropped. It seemed disappointed, but Bilbo couldn’t tell.

            “Do you still think that?” Bilbo managed to stammer out, but Thorin was standing, letting the whole thing unfurl, and it oddly… looked _right_ in his hands. He moved to put it on to see if it fit and Thorin stroked the fur by his head and straightened it out. “I… I could return it.”

            “Why on earth would I ask that of you?” He hummed, but Thorin wasn’t looking at Bilbo. He was still eyeing the cloak as it came down towards his calves. It was warm and finally he raised his eyes to Bilbo who swallowed. Thorin came to him, raising Bilbo up by the arm and then, grappling the writer into his arms for a hug. “Why on earth would I think your gift was not worthy?” He whispered against Bilbo’s ear and the writer mewled, reaching to cling to the new coat. “For all your eloquent words and properness, you still forget one thing.”

            “W-What’s that?”

            “The other party,” Bilbo gasped. “For you think I’ve given you something grand and wondrous, but you have failed to see that you, unknowingly, have gifted me something I have _tried_ to place a monetary value upon.” He squeezed Bilbo and then something nudged painfully at his chest. He drew back, poking Bilbo’s coat- “And what do you have tucked away there?” Bilbo… froze. Then… carefully drew the smaller box out.

            “I… I was debating on whether to give it to you o-or not,” Thorin stared down to the simple wooden box, unwrapped. “Just… take it.” He shoved it into Thorin’s clutches and turned away, frowning. Thorin raised a brow but opened the tiny box, and within was a jewel unlike any other he’d seen. It sparkled in the firelight, shimmering like captured moonlight on a crystal _river._ “You don’t wear jewelry and it was impulsive of me… The woman tried to sell me something else, but it had to be that one, I don’t know what it is, no one does. It’s…” he hugged himself. “It’s one of a kind-“ _like you-_ “and I thought,… you could I don’t know…” he waved his hand in upset. “I just…” _thought of you_ \- “when I saw it, it just… looked _special.”_

            Thorin smiled, swallowing thickly and moving quietly forward, reaching out for Bilbo and spinning him. He drew the reluctant writer into his arms, squeezing the air right from his lungs, only loosening to repeat the act.

            “You have given me more than just a book or an excuse to travel again, Master Baggins,” he said against his ear. “I have found the thrill of travelling all over again, I have found someone very dear to me who shares the same feelings when I see a sunrise, or when I see a fawn drinking the dew from the morning grass. You have not a _clue_ what sort of gift _you_ are to _me,_ Bilbo Baggins.” He drew the writer back, smiling, looking him up and down with a soft honest gaze. “And I am sorry for not showing you that. You aren’t just a writer, just someone to tag along, you are as much the owner of this story as I am now, and… and I wouldn’t change that. I hope you would not either.”

            “N-No of course not,” Bilbo was _stunned._ His mouth slack and… “You really like it? Them?”

            “Are you daft? Of course I do,” Thorin looked down at himself, chuckling. “I look like a true dwarf now, don’t I?” Bilbo snorted and then, stared for a moment longer- Thorin with his hair down, laying upon the gray fur, a soft expression.

            “I think you need to be a bit more grim,” He teased and Thorin laughed but drew Bilbo back into his arms.

            “You would have replaced all the somber feelings in that dwarf king, I think,” he chuckled. “With but a smile and your willing heart.” Bilbo shuffled a bit in Thorin’s arms.

            “H-here I thought I was the romantic in my novels,” he tutted happily at Thorin’s chest. “What other sort of sappy reunions are you planning in this book of ours?” He huffed teasingly.

            “Mmm, I’d have a kiss,” He looked down, and Bilbo shook his head.

            “No, Thorin Durin, I do not think so,” He pulled back.

            “You said you wouldn’t cheat, tell me all that ridiculousness did not have you trembling?” He quirked a brow and Bilbo tutted.

            “Then I would have to say, as the burglar would ‘I am afraid I have inherited some of that dwarven stubbornness’,” Bilbo was _smirking_ and Thorin was gaping.

            “No fair! You said you wouldn’t cheat!”

            “My, a dwarven king is so easily riled!” He stepped forward, his hands slowly unfurling to stroke at the fur-lined coat. “You think you’ve earned a kiss?” Thorin pouted a bit.

            “Yes, a bit,” He shifted his weight nervously. “Sort of… wondering how good of a kiss we managed last night.”

            “We kissed _twice,”_

            “A… oh. Well,” Thorin cleared his throat a bit embarrassed. “Didn’t realize it was two separate… kisses.” He raised his eyes, thinking of finding a smile- but he found was furrowed brows. A pursed mouth. Hazel eyes darted between Thorin’s in deep _thought._ There was… hurt in his expression. Temptation. Worry. Joy. Anger. _Sadness._ Something that was starting a storm in the writer. “If it’s too awkward, it’s fine. It’s just for fun.” But this seemed to make the writer sink, and his hands withdrew, his eyes fell. “Bilbo, I didn’t mean what I said to my ne—“but there were fingers touching his lips, silencing his assurances.

            “You may have one,” Thorin blinked, not expecting that response. “A… And you can use your tongue, but just _one._ You gasp, that’s two- and I’ll… breathe through my nose as long as I can.”

            “We don’t have to do this,” He said though, he tried to show a smile, but Bilbo seemed to contemplate his words further. He wondered if he _hadn’t_ smiled if Bilbo would have reacted differently.

            “We don’t,” Bilbo shrugged then and let his hand come back to his new coat, to stroke at the fur. “But a part of me is… just as curious.”Bilbo raised himself to his toes and Thorin bent the rest of the way- the kiss was like Bilbo remembered- soft, whiskered. But a tongue came, and it wasn’t like the sharp comparison between Thorin’s drunken kisses the night before. It was gradual, it was _arousing_. The kiss had Bilbo keening and leaning against Thorin for support who offered it willingly, wrapping his arms around his back to keep him in place.

            They gasped a half dozen times, to turn their heads, actually breathe or lick at one another’s lips- and when Bilbo lowered himself to his feet again, Thorin didn’t follow after. He had this dreamy look, an expression Bilbo was sure _he_ was wearing too.

            “I thought you said only one kiss,” Bilbo groaned and gave a shove to Thorin.

            “You’re awful,” He huffed at him, going to pick up the paper littering the floor, tossing some of it the fire place. “Just _awful.”_

            “I didn’t think it was that bad,” Thorin rubbed his beard contently. And for a moment that forlorn expression returned to Bilbo’s face.

            “No, you’re right,” but as soon as Thorin tried to see where it came from, to see it fully or ask him about, it had vanished for a smile he _knew_ was fake. “It wasn’t bad _at all.”_

_And perhaps, that is the problem._


	15. The Long and Winding Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Befuddled at the very thought of the other crossing into their minds has an... imagined tension building between Thorin and Bilbo.
> 
> Or is it as imaginary as they believe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo. 15! and 2000+ hits! I guess it doesn't really count since I had to post more chapters to get there, but if you all truly want another Fili x Kili offshoot, I will do it (I actually have most of it done :3 yay!)
> 
> Should I set another goal? I'm realizing Fili and Kili aren't my muses, but they can be fun to write if I'm in a mood... a smutty one-shot of Thilbo HAD their kisses gone to more? Hmmm. Well, anyway, enjoy this chapter, nothing exciting, oh I guess I shouldn't say that! It's the awkwardness of the following day/weeks and maybe a bit of revelations?
> 
> BTW, from now on, the story is going to be shifting to Thorin's perspective, and less of Bilbo's (though it will change mid-chapter sometimes) no breaks, no like "---------" Bilbo's POV hint, you'll see it. I'm trying something new, working with Thorin's pov, so I hope you enjoy it! (and the later chapters too!)

             **Chapter 15: The Long and Winding Road** **  
**

With the holiday season over, Bilbo found himself in more _conflict_ with Thorin than _ever._ They headed out of the quaint town with Chapter five finished and six making its way into his notebook, penned by the gorgeous ink-well pen Thorin had gifted him. Bilbo had almost forgotten the sweet moments they shared, but then Fili and Kili would remind him of the kisses or ask if he and Uncle had done something more… As always, Bilbo would sigh and lower his head, avoiding the pestering.

            What the brothers thought was embarrassment or bashfulness was really a ploy to avoid showing off a stricken face, filled with remorse. Perhaps he _shouldn’t_ have urged Thorin on with their playful banter. It had seemed natural at the time though, easy. They’d been joking, having fun. He was made weak at the knees by a strong and talented kiss…

            A kiss he was now certain had awoken feelings within him that _shouldn’t_ have been awoken. Questions were popping up in his mind and he had answers… but he didn’t much like them. Regret should have bubbled, but there was an absence of that, it’s replacement was confusion. But… if what they had had been nothing more than fun and games, then it would be silly to allow his feelings to fester.

            And if it hadn’t been… then what if the thought was shared only on his side- unrequited love? Who was to say Thorin would feel the same? Even _Bilbo_ didn’t quite know what he felt for the man. Perhaps what he felt was just fondness. Companionship fostered by the adventure they were on.

            Aside from a jumble of unwanted thoughts, it pained Bilbo all the same. To see Thorin or to be reminded of what they had done because a part of him _wanted_ it to have meant something. Would it have been the same, had it been a different man? Had it been Bard that those kisses were stolen? Bilbo wondered as they stumbled out of their rooms the following day, greeting Bofur and Bifur.

            They saw Bard once more before they left the inn. The morning after their night together. He was far more sober and far more apologetic. He’d taken to seeking the forgiveness of a curly-haired women in fact, and seemed startled when Bilbo came up to him and confronted him about the kiss. It seemed only just _then_ that Bard realised he may have kissed a _man._

            Thorin had found it _worth_ his humiliation, though he said he would have feigned a bit more _distress_ for the kiss.

            They were back out in the snow, capturing caribou walking across a sheet of frozen river. There were young calf’s with little nubs for antlers trailing after their mothers. Thorin showed Bilbo how to use his camera to its fullest extent, which often had them close, but neither would make strange gestures or come-hither looks. Fili and Kili _tried_ , often _shoving_ into Bilbo to knock the writer down and away or into their Uncle.

            But it seemed that it had been a joke after all.

            And Bilbo wasn’t quite sure if he was alright with that. With their spare tent gone, Bilbo wasn’t given a lot of _alone_ time to figure out if the kisses had meant more. As a joke, Thorin had insisted he be allowed to woo the writer, to kiss him so that he could be better, though he hadn’t brought it up since he’d made the joke. _I dread it when he does._

            Bilbo woke one morning, stretching in Thorin’s arms before realizing that Thorin was _quite_ … h…hard. A morning stiffy. Nothing to be ashamed about, he’d woken a few times with one too- he was sure they _all_ had. Except the only awkward bit was that…

            Thorin was behind him, pressed in… a very familiar way, a very _arousing_ way. Bilbo didn’t move, lest he wake Thorin or worse, rouse him _further._ He felt hot breath flutter down his neck, a cool nose nuzzle against his skin and he whimpered. Bilbo quickly covered his mouth, in hopes that half-muffle had not woken the adventurer, but it had. The long groaning stretch and tightening about his stomach told Bilbo Thorin had awakened.

            “What time is it?” Thorin asked, though he should have known.

            “I uh…” a gasp. “I e-expect it’s… 7… o-or 8.” A huff and Thorin frowned at the mop of curls in his view before leaning back.

            “Are you alright?”

            “A-I am… q-quite f-fine,” Bilbo was stock still, though Thorin knew there was an urgency in his body to move, to fidget.

            “Are you sure, you’re trembling,” Thorin moved to prop his head up, an arm sliding away to raise his upper body upright. Though the movement was _harmless_ to Bilbo, it awoke Thorin in a whole other way- his roused cock brushed against Bilbo’s backside in a _none to_ innocent manner. Bilbo was lucky, he supposed, that Thorin was too far _engrossed_ inhis own moan he failed to hear Bilbo’s.

            Though the adventurer _didn’t_ fail to notice how the writer pressed _back_ against him. “Ah, well I suppose that would be why you’re trying not to move.” Thorin managed to roll to his back, sitting upwards with a blush. “Do uh, excuse me for that.” He straightened his beard as Bilbo moved to sit up. “That’s… ha, that’s not how you should be awoken. Not that impolitely, at least.” Thorin groaned a bit and bowed his head and Bilbo stared for a moment-

            “Do, you uh, want me to start breakfast so you can,” Bilbo gestured with his head and Thorin let out a bark of a laugh.

            “No I’ll be fine in a few moments—“

            “That _isn’t_ going to go away in a few minutes,” Bilbo chided and Thorin glanced over, though there was something in those steely blue eyes Bilbo didn’t recognize. They were quite literally, how Bilbo read all of Thorin, since his face was muted to stern, proud, pleased, or upset. It was bewildered, hesitant, _worried_ even and a bit…

            Was that… _longing?_

            “I might make it worse,” Thorin countered after a while, turning his head away, though he sighed, rolling his eyes as he bent his legs. “I can leave, if you don’t want too.”

            “Says that man who could probably _barely_ put on pants with that,” Bilbo snickered, without realizing it, had fallen back into the playful teasing banter. It wasn’t like he could help it, Thorin made him feel young, made him respond _happily_ and Thorin would tease with as much zeal.

            “That isn’t _my_ fault,” He tutted.

            “Well it is _partially_ your fault,” Bilbo grinned, dressing quietly, smirking all the while. “Let’s be honest here, Thorin, I mean, I know my backside might be of _interest_ certainly, I would know, but I doubt it roused you so _completely._ ” He was scooting towards the front of their tent when Thorin huffed- their eyes caught. He looked,… helpless. “You aren’t your nephews are you?”

            “W-What, why? What do they have to do with my dilemma caused by your _fascinating_ rear?” Thorin teased, though there was a bit of distress in his voice, a squeak here and there.

            “Do you need me to show yo—“

            “No,” Thorin said quickly, swallowing, his cheeks lighting and his eyes lowering. “I’m fine.”

            “I promised I wouldn’t cheat,” Bilbo was crawling back towards him and Thorin blinked-

            “What are yo—“but a soft _sweet_ kiss was planted upon a bright and warm cheek from Bilbo. Then another at his jaw, under his ear, though there was _just_ a little flick of the tip of his tongue to make him perk. “O-Oh.”

            “You’re game, I’d give you a kiss for every time I was wooed, consider me wooed, I’d have thrown you down,” He replied and Thorin’s eyes owled.

            “Why don’t you?” Bilbo glanced over his shoulder playfully, Thorin _honestly_ wondering why he hadn’t. There was such a great distance between them it seemed, since they had left town. Unspoken, and truthfully, it almost seemed _imagined._ Hazel eyes drooped a bit, welling with remorse.

            “Because we’re adults and your nephews are watching, or listening, or both, and I’m not getting naked in the cold,” Bilbo turned though, finishing tying his shoes and stepping out. “Hurry up, before your nephews decide I’m too boring to talk too and walk in on their Uncle…” Thorin lowered his eyes- “ _Appreciating_ all that his nephews don’t get too.” Bilbo winked and Thorin ducked his head between his legs with a groan. The soft crunch of snow from feet dissipating with distance. He could hear Bilbo starting breakfast, hear the rolling of Fili and Kili in the tent across from him.

            Thorin wasn’t the only one to notice the strange tension he was carrying with Bilbo now. Ever since their mistletoe kisses had happened, and the following morning, Thorin found himself at odds with the writer- they joked like before, wrote like before, smoked and talked like before, but there was an underlying topic neither wanted to speak of. Or more accurately, Bilbo did not wish to _bring_ up. Thorin had teased Bilbo that the kiss couldn’t have been that bad, since it had progressed into far more- but what really caught Thorin was that forlorn and desperate look Bilbo had upon his face after.

            As though it were just whimsical. Meaningless. It hadn’t been meaningless or whimsical, mind you, it had been for a bit of fun and curiosity on Thorin’s part. Who wouldn’t be curious of the man you’d travel nearly six months with, sharing in more than just stories, but interests,… _mutual_ feelings. However, Thorin realized _quickly_ it had been more than just _curiosity_. Thorin took advantage of a moment they could both laugh about- perhaps it was a bit of weakness on his part. He had not felt so young in years, and with the writer it was _easy_ to forget their age. And it was _obvious_ they liked one another, found one another attractive, mentally and physically…

 _So why is there such a distance now?_ Thorin flopped back to the bed, shucking a hand down to his awakened member, pressing against it- the flush of heat and pleasure was startling and unexpected. The mere _thought_ of Bilbo having been the cause of this, that he could have been wooed by such teases in the morning, made it _far_ easier to relieve himself. He spit against his palm as his other hand lifted his pants and covers back- his throat tight when he grabbed his throbbing dick- _Maker_ when did Bilbo become his fantasy? When could he close his eyes and picture the blonde, curly hair, a stout but _nice_ figure down to the last details?

            Thorin, in all his life, had never recalled a face so well, recalled actions or teases so easily, _never_ had he been so _aroused_ by the _thought_ of a person in all his 40 years. His fist quickened its pace, quieted and doused by blankets, Thorin turned his head to muffle his gasps- it was the wrong idea. Where Bilbo had slept smelled of him; smelled of soft and young pine trees and green grass and flower beds. Maker, how did his _natural_ smell stay so long?! He hiked his shirt away from his stomach, and inhaled- that kiss came to mind first, that tongue, those moans, his nimble fingers- “S-Shit!”

            Thorin came with a grunt- the sounds of the world began to return; birds chirping, Bilbo was now talking to Fili or Kili, he wasn’t sure, the other was moving about- his heart began to slow and the realization he had just _cum_ to the thought of Bilbo… “I’m in deep, aren’t I?” with his free hand he covered his face and set about soon after finding his breath, then to clean himself. When he moved to stand, stepping out, he felt his knees quake a bit, and righted himself- though Kili saw the jumble.

            “Uncle~! Weak in the knees?” He glared and straightened, which drew the attention of Fili and Bilbo. “What were _you~_ doing?”

            “None of your busi-“

            “Sleeping like a baby,” Bilbo giggled as he spoke. “Couldn’t wake him up.” _Saved._ Thorin wanted to bow down to the writer, who had turned the attention of Kili _away_ from his… morning wood. “I tried, I shook him, rolled him over.”

            “Wow, Uncle,” Fili chuckled- he’d _much_ rather be embarrassed by sleeping like a lamb than his… well, more irrational parts.

            “It was warm, and I had that amazing coat,” Bilbo’s cheeks lit then, though a tease, playing along, that blush had not been fake. It was real, and it was a sign that Bilbo still thought Thorin might not be interested in the coat. Breakfast was relaxed, and Fili and Kili asked where there next destination was and Thorin drew out his maps. “If I’m right, we’re about here. And we need to head over this little range here, to get to town- then, take the train.”

            “Where are we getting off? This is the train route right?” Bilbo pointed and Thorin nodded, drawing out a _second_ map, much larger and folding over the other.

            “This is where that train ends,” he pointed to another spot. “It’s only a two day trip, really. Then it’s on foot, though I think by carriage might be better.” Thorin scooted the map down a bit from the train station to the other. “Here is the second train we’ll take and it’s a week’s journey southward.” Bilbo moved over a bit to look, and Thorin glanced to him, suddenly becoming lost in the writer’s profile, watching brows furrow and raise at the distance, or something. It was only when hazel eyes met his that he realized he’d been staring. Bilbo’s cheeks lit and he smiled ducking his head away as he stood, stretching. Just the hint of stomach bared and Thorin had a desire to kiss at that soft skin- but instead turned to his maps.

            Fili and Kili were boring their eyes straight into their Uncle and he felt it, rising to meet the beaming glances, nodding their heads to Bilbo. Thorin shook his head, and decided he would try and figure out why there was such a gap between him and the writer. If there even _was_ really a gap- he wasn’t sure anymore. His little _fantasy_ had him unable to sort through and orient his vexing thoughts and… _desires_ too.

            Maybe, if he just _told_ Bilbo, it would _all_ just be a big misunderstanding, clearly his nephews hadn’t picked up on the strain between them. In fact, they only seemed to grow more _bold_ since he told them they had kissed. He was sure they had seen it, had indeed been around to witness the interaction.

            Thorin had the strangest idea to _ask_ them what they thought of the kiss, if it looked like it was a couple’s first kiss or something- when he turned to ask, the brothers were still beaming. His brows furrowed a bit, at their beaming as if they knew what their Uncle was thinking. “What?”

            “Oh nothing,”

            “You just look like you need advice,” Thorin cocked a brow to this, perked, so he folded his arms and turned to face them.

            “Well if you have some, I’m sure it would _worth the time_ to at least _humor_ you two,” Thorin prompted with a glance between them.

            “Well, we would tell you,” Fili started.

            “But, it would have to be just the three of us,” Kili ended with a stretch. “You know how perceptive our writer is.”

            “ _‘Our_ writer’? When did _you two_ sign Master Baggins?” He lips quirked, compelled to know. Bilbo had returned from their tent, as if it had been some journey and paused to look between the three Durin men, eyes falling to Thorin.

            “Am I interrupting?”

            “We we’re just talking about how perceptive you are, Mister Bilbo!” Kili beamed. Thorin rubbed his face- hadn’t _they_ been the ones to say that they should talk privately. But then, Kili was leading Bilbo away, he wanted to go out and make some tea and collect some delicious bark. Thorin returned his eyes to Fili, narrowed.

            “I suppose you have a plan, I’d hear of it first,” Thorin grumbled.

            “Uncle, is it true? That it’s just a game?” Fili watched his Uncle’s brows come together, questioning the words to use, wondering, formulating the best response. “I mean…” he glanced off to where Kili and Bilbo had wandered, laughing, he knew what Kili was trying to get out of the writer, knew an approach as blunt as he had done with Thorin would surely ruin their chances… “Isn’t that sort of like… not good?”

            “And what do you mean ‘not good’?” Thorin questioned instead, avoiding the real question.

            “Come on, Uncle, we… Kili and I… we know how you look at him,” Thorin lowered his eyes to the fire. “It’s plain as day and night, though I’m not sure why Bilbo doesn’t it see it. Uncle you’ve _never_ liked photographing people, not even your family, and you have more negatives of Bilbo than of animals!” But his Uncle did not retort, not offer any sort of noise, just listened. “Doesn’t it make it worse, making it a game instead of something, I don’t know…” Fili waved his hands in exasperation. “something more serious? Shouldn’t it be?” And Thorin opened his mouth, and then closed it again, his brows setting even deeper into their frown.

            “No,”

            “No?”

            “No, it does make it worse,” and Thorin brought a hand to rub at his beard, his eyes flitting to Bilbo and Kili, stripping off some pine needles in the distance, Kili jumping at something excitedly and Bilbo laughing. “But I’m not sure who it’s making it worse _on,_ Fili. Him, or me.” He sighed then and rubbed his eyes then his whole face with a groan. “Do not tell Bilbo this.”

            “What, that you might be falling for him?” Fili teased, though, beginning to smile despite his Uncle’s obvious tension and unease with the situation. “Maker forbid he realizes you do care a bit more than friends do. Under all that tough cover, there’s a kid falling in love too.”

            “My, you and Kili seem to be _full_ of wisdom,” Thorin berated with a grunt and turned to face him though, noticeably more sad but _smiling_ oddly enough. “I’m not sure _what_ I’m doing.” Their eyes met, locking and Fili searched for answers through his Uncle’s eyes. “I just hope that it’s _right.”_

            Despite the conversation, Thorin didn’t think it helped alleviate much of or any of his concerns. Fili and Kili seemed to brighten with the news though, and they spent their time _together_ leaving Thorin and Bilbo alone _much_ of the time, as if to encourage it. Whatever it was Kili spoke to Bilbo of, he didn’t mention it- perhaps they hadn’t spoken of _much_ anyway, silly and unimportant things. Thorin couldn’t help but think that they did, _however_ , speak of their kiss. Bilbo would light up anytime they sat too close to one another, arms or legs bumping against each other.

            A cold evening had them all retiring early, stuffing themselves within their blankets and tents, Fili and Kili wanting to be close to their Uncle and Bilbo, moved their tent closer, so they could still talk. Bilbo was writing away when he sighed, and stopped, catching Thorin’s attention. “Wee writer stuck?”

            “Guh, maybe,” Bilbo scratched his forehead, playing with the feather under his chin in thought. “Would you look at it?” He scooted his journal over and Thorin rolled to his stomach, their shoulders pressed together. Bilbo felt his breath hitch, but when nothing else happened, let a wave of disappointment come over him. Thorin had been _truthful_ ; he was _not_ his nephews. They would keep playing, keep playing perhaps, until it made Bilbo uncomfortable. Thorin though, was an adult, had boundaries, understood other’s boundaries too, it seemed; Bilbo wished for a moment he did not _have_ that. Thorin made a few changes, hummed as he jotted down some more story for Bilbo, and the writer watched, eyes focused upon the story Thorin was writing.

            “What about…” Thorin hummed as he finished his last thought. “..that?” He moved the journal back to Bilbo, holding the fancy quill pen as Bilbo read. “I think it might help? I see where you were going, I think you might have been getting caught up here…” Thorin tapped and Bilbo nodded, but read on silently. It allowed Thorin a guilty moment of grazing his eyes upon Bilbo’s profile again. Bilbo smiled- I like it. “Whew, I was sitting here, worried, thinking ‘Oh Maker, he’s writing, I didn’t ask for that, oh dear’ so…” Thorin gave a loose shrug. “Thought you might be sitting here wondering what I was writing.” He leaned over and began to explain his point, where he thought the story should flow, the characters and context they were in…

            In his drawl, he hadn’t noticed how Bilbo _stopped_ looking at his journal. How Bilbo was _gaping_ at the adventurer, his cheeks reddened. The writer had never met another person who could _impress_ him like this with words, with his _mind._ There were a few other authors he really looked up to, sure, but there were not many others he had found a fancy in.

            Not many that had Bilbo making a meek cooing noise. With said noise, Thorin turned, curious but… startled at the expression. “Um…” Thorin’s brows furrowed a bit. “Is there something I said?”

            “W-What do you mean?” Bilbo _giggled._ Thorin frowned a bit _deeper._

            “You just have a… most odd look,” and Bilbo bashfully ducked his head at Thorin’s words, scratched at his cheek.

            “Thorin, no one has ever sat down and told me about a book, or went deeper than they ‘enjoyed it’ for small elements,” he sighed. “You… you just sat here and… and impressed me with your words, and your intelligence, can I be awed by that?” He looked up hopeful, to Thorin startled blue gray eyes. “Can I appreciate your mind too and not just your good looks?” Then the writer smiled a bit, looked away touching his cheeks. “Can I even be wooed a bit for it?”

            Wooed? By talking about the story? Thorin had only explained his reasoning, where he wanted the story to go as a prompt from the writer. Was he really impressed? Thorin felt his stomach flutter, felt heat flush against body, despite the chill outside. Bilbo returned to look at him with bright eyes, and they darted down a bit, then back up, then repeated a few times. Thorin just raised a brow high. “Oh, Maker, do I have to _ask_ for a kiss?” Thorin gaped.

            It must have been his turn or something.

            “What?” Thorin managed to say, catching himself.

            “I’m _wooed_ alright, that,” he waved his hand to the journal. “Thorin, as a writer, I’m impressed by intelligence, by the way someone can twist words, or know which words to use because they fit better… You wooed me by talking about this, I can’t explain _that.”_ Bilbo was a deep crimson, it lit to his ears and covered his nose too, a look Thorin was memorizing, was _falling_ for. “So I thought you could get a kiss for your prowess.”

            “My prowess? I feel just as stunned,” Thorin chuckled, glancing back to the journal. Maybe Kili _had,_ in a more young and naïve approach, gotten Bilbo to confess something? Was he more eager to play this game, this dancing around one another and slowly drawing closer? “I wasn’t aiming for it.”

            “And perhaps that’s why I feel so… stunned too, that,” Bilbo sighed. “That I didn’t know you were so eloquent either. I knew you wrote, you’re in magazines and such. But… hearing it.” Bilbo shivered and Thorin waited patiently. “Well, are you?”

            “I believe you told _me_ I needed the teacher,” Thorin thought this might disprove his theory- that Bilbo was just playing a simple game. Nothing more. “Shouldn’t _you_ be the one to show _me?”_ Bilbo blinked. “I mean, it doesn’t work if I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, right?” Bilbo’s cheeks were darkening, if it was possible, or maybe his entire face was just lighting up at Thorin’s come on’s.

            “W-I can’t!” Bilbo stammered, looking away nervously and Thorin chuckled, tucking the quill pen back to his journal.

            “We don't need too, so long as we know the score,” Thorin replied. “I think I’ve at least reached apprentice by now?” Bilbo squeaked and shut his eyes tight. “Oh, by that look I have to be a _novice!”_ He turned to look at the writer who was still blushing, still had his eyes shut. But finally they peered open, and turned to look at Thorin. He felt like time began to drag, he felt a pull and it took all his _will_ and might to lean forward, to press his lips against Bilbo’s softly. The whimper Bilbo elicited was enough for Thorin to hum quietly in return. Another little peck, a barely-there nibble of lips before he drew back, and time resumed.

            “That’s it?” Bilbo asked and Thorin having turned pause, shooting his head back up. “I was going to let you use your tongue.”

            “I wooed you that much?” Thorin snorted but shook his head. “No Master Baggins, I think if you want me to use my tongue, then you’re going to have to start it this time, _teacher._ ” Thorin cocked his head a bit, facing Bilbo a bit more but didn’t move in. He’d wait to see if Bilbo had the courage to kiss him.

            Thorin could say he wasn’t often surprised by people. Nor by lovers either. Love was quite the same, though the feelings shared were always different. Bilbo was a surprise. The man was. The writer was. The little adventurer that was blossoming all were surprises. That Bilbo leaned _back in_ for a kiss, another, eagerly, was a surprise for Thorin. His chest grew tight, and heat swirled in his breast. He turned his head to angle their kiss better and Bilbo mewled between their lips, gasping, and reinitiating the kissing again.

            Bilbo slid his tongue across Thorin’s bottom lip, and so Thorin mimicked the movement, soft and timid like Bilbo’s- the writer whimpered in his throat before he drew Thorin’s tongue into his mouth, sucking upon it. Thorin exhaled _heavily_ through his nose, scooting in a bit more, _allowing_ his tongue to be played with, sucked on, tended too. He raised a hand to hold Bilbo’s cheek, brushing a thumb over smooth skin and cheekbone. He let his fingertips fall to his jaw, tracing the soft and rounded outline of the writer’s jovial face. Thorin had never kissed so _passionately_ he thought, so _desperately_ before without it culminating into something _more_ than a kiss. He broke the kiss, but his tongue was followed after by Bilbo’s which gave a flick before he drew back. Thorin’s fingers still played with his jaw, then his chin before they dropped and Thorin pulled away to eye Bilbo overall. “Have I gotten better then?” He chuckled and Bilbo gave him a nudge, looking away, though Thorin knew his tongue was rolling in his mouth, Thorin’s was too, trying to scrape away the feel of Bilbo’s mouth and tongue.

            Maker, he’d be hard tomorrow morning, he just _knew_ it, all thanks to that little kiss. _Well, it wasn’t so little_ Thorin thought with a smile. “I will be more cautious to the words I use, Maker forbid I have you swooning at any time.” Bilbo huffed at him, said he would be better prepared next time against his onslaught of words. Thorin laughed and watched Bilbo try to write a bit more. “Concentration gone, Master Baggins?”

            “W-Well, if you hadn’t imp-proved on kissing, I-I could go right back to it,” the writer tutted, though Thorin _highly_ doubted any of their kisses had been so bad to not affect him.

            “Uh huh, well, I shall dumb it down a bit, next time,” He leaned over against and pressed a chaste kiss to his ear. “Sleep, Master Baggins, it will serve you better.” Thorin didn’t lay to face him, instead, he flopped to his back, settling into the blankets deeply, listening to Bilbo squirm for an hour. Finally the writer gave up, though Thorin feigned to be sleeping, was gifted a marvelous set of sighs and huffs and trembles before Bilbo blew out their lantern and… settled his head upon his chest. He was tense, Thorin could feel it, so offered a bit of support. He adjusted as if sleeping, humming and clicking his mouth once to get ‘comfortable’. It worked like a _charm_ for Bilbo pressed his nose against his chest, took a breath and coiled a bit more tightly about Thorin.

_Maybe this isn’t just a game anymore?_


	16. Boil, Boil, Toil and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wrong move can have everything falling around you; a wrong move can have you set back for immeasurable periods. Thorin is sure he has made some wrong move, and can see the pieces falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO. 16- moving right along! Maybe I'll post another Fili Kili ficlet-thing later on, but it might be MUCH later, as the further we progress, the more the story is going to be taking drastic turns (will not say for the better or worse) and thus not a lot of romps will be had.
> 
> HOWEVER, should you all desire a bit of Thilbo-playful romping, I have a little idea that would be a sort of 'If they had sex and kissed game' I might post that, but I won't unless you want it and I can't know if you don't want it if you don't tell me. I wrote it for myself, but I'll share it :3 Moving onwards, enjoy Chapter 16! Things are getting crazy.

**Chapter 16: Boil, Boil, Toil and Trouble**

            Their last few days reaching the train station went by without cause to fret. Thorin had won two more kisses  from the writer. And that became the game, to teach Thorin proper kissing, it made the adventurer speechless. Every time. He had even told Bilbo that he had won a point for making him such, to which the writer asked what sort of prize he’d won.

            Thorin offered another kiss; he held him gently and pressed a soft and sweet kiss to a round and hot cheek. “Master level?” He had drawn back, with a grin, Bilbo absolutely _struck._ “I mean, you can’t get much higher than master? Perhaps it is much like self-defense classes, where they award you a level after Master? Level 2.” He ruffled those blonde curls to only have his hand slapped away with a flush, a stutter. The writer stormed forward, but it was not with upset at the adventurer, not truly.

            Bilbo had not _ever_ felt so flustered in all his life, and the adventurer seemed particularly good at riling him up. This, however, was not news. But allowing such a physical closeness as a kiss, it only made it easier for the adventurer to wiggle a hook into his heart an- wait. _Wait a single moment!_ A faint tingle of happiness spread, made Bilbo look to Thorin and... _smile._ When they reached the edge of town, seeing a train parked at the station, Bilbo gazed up to Thorin who was stroking his beard in thought, staring down at a small notebook he kept close to his chest.

            Was… was Thorin playing at something? Something more than friendship? Bilbo must have kept his eyes focused upon the adventurer for several moments, for when Thorin had finished writing whatever it was and turned to Bilbo, he blinked, surprised. “Something the matter?” He asked, straightening a bit and Bilbo gasped.

            “E-Er no!” he rubbed his neck. “Just uh, nothing.” Thorin hummed, curious, but wrapped his arm about Bilbo’s shoulder.

            “You’re not going to tell me you secretly have a fear of getting lost in the crowd again are you?” He teased and Bilbo nudged him. “Certainly, it is a fear, but I think we’ve conquered a bit more danger than that together.” Bilbo smiled and let himself fall against his arm- a gesture Thorin took note of.Bilbo had relaxed far easier in his embrace, whether they were sleeping for warmth or just enjoying this gentle embrace as friends. “We _really_ have come a long ways from those first few weeks together.” Thorin gave him a tug, content, _warmed_ , but did release him, indicating they should head down. The trip into town took less than an hour. Bilbo had finished chapter six with Thorin’s help, help he _often_ reminded still remained available should Bilbo ever need help again. The writer had said Thorin was in it for a kiss, and Thorin denied he was in it for the writer’s sake.

            They were allowed a night at the inn before they went to board the train the next day. They bought their tickets, boarded the train _without_ getting lost, and tucked themselves into a large sized cabin for the four of them. Thorin reprimanded Kili and Fili, insisting they _both_ sleep in their _separate_ beds and not philander about whilst he and Bilbo were trying to sleep. This greatly upset them, and he knew it would not cease their activities, but at least he would feel _better_ about it.  “So, two days on the train?” Bilbo said, snuggling up into one of the benches, happy for the cushion. He raised his feet to the opposite bench in which held Thorin looking over larger maps and a few pocket sized ones. He glanced to Bilbo’s feet, sighing, but used the writer’s leg as an extension of his work-space, which didn’t seem to bother the writer.

            “Two days on _this_ train, yes,” Thorin murmured, though he did not raise his eyes. “Where the hell is this, anyway?” he raised a map up, holding a second beside it. “Blast it, these are two different… yes. This train will be a two day trip, today and tomorrow. We should arrive tomorrow night in town.” Thorin groaned and folded up one of the maps before digging for another. “Then we trek to the next, a week or so. Then take another…” Thorin pursed his lips in thought- “...another depressingly _long_ ride on a train.” Bilbo chuckled and snuggled his shoulders against the cushion.

            “Could you hand me my journal over there?” Bilbo pointed to his smaller bag, resting on his bed.

            “And you can’t get it?” Thorin said, again, not lifting his eyes.

            “I would, but apparently you’re mapping me,” Thorin stilled for a moment at the words, before his eyes flitted to Bilbo’s legs and the two maps sprawled over his shins. He sighed, and set his maps aside, groaning as he moved to fetch the writer’s bag, to hand it to him. “Good, I was getting comfortable, would have hated getting up.” Thorin chuckled and watched the writer draw his journal out. That first day, both of them sat in their cabin, enjoying the quiet they shared, writing and figuring out where to go.

            Then Bilbo began to lift the maps from his legs. Thorin had _just_ gotten an idea of a trail for them when the writer disrupted them. Instead of yelling though, he took a breath, and exhaled quietly. He didn’t expect the writer to come and sit beside him, but he did. Even set his journal within Thorin’s lap- “I’m stuck.”

            “Couldn’t ask?” Thorin groaned and Bilbo frowned a bit at Thorin’s response. “I’m… sorry, I just…” he waved his hand to the map. “I was plotting a course.”

            “Oh- and… oh I just moved them…” Bilbo looked to the two maps and glanced back, worried. “I can move them back and—“

            “I can finish later,” Thorin readjusted, drawing the journal up like a book, reclining on the bench. Bilbo sat there patiently, watching Thorin, then glancing down at the maps he had before them, all jungle and winding rivers. Circles darted areas where waterfalls were said to be, he noted that Thorin even had his own key for things he’d written. Thorin hummed, and then lowered the journal. “See, I think here, there should be some sort of complication.” He pointed. “Perhaps they’re captured? Or maybe they’re made guests, but are rude to their hosts. Obviously, there is some pressure.” He wrote a few things down, a couple of paragraphs even, before he handed the journal back to Bilbo.

            Except, the writer looked _less_ interested by what was in his journal then the maps on Thorin’s lap. “Before you threw about our path, we had stopped here.” Thorin pointed, clearly seeing the interest on Bilbo’s face as he examined said area. “I’ve been here a few times, but never with a good enough camera. Might _still_ not capture the beauty though.” Thorin paused for a moment. “Actually… I might have a few… to show you.” Bilbo’s eyes turned- “Just how beautiful it is and how… much a camera doesn’t capture?” Bilbo was nodding before Thorin had even finished _speaking._ He turned to his own pack, rifling through a few papers, before finally drawing out sample photos that had been printed with the article. “They couldn’t decide which they liked best.”

Now Bilbo had seen Thorin’s photos. Had read a bit of how he wrote. He could tell Thorin was a marvelous photographer, but perhaps, he had just never _seen_ them outside of Thorin’s camera before. His mouth fell open, impressed. Despite the article remaining the same, the pictures _each_ conveyed what he had written.

            “These are amazing,” Bilbo cooed in awe and Thorin smiled, putting his arms about the bench back. “I mean, I knew you were good, Thorin but… maybe I just… never saw them printed…” His eyes absorbed the colors and the strength of the photo, its composition, he shivered a bit. “Will you show me how to develop my film?”

            “W… really?” Thorin asked- it wasn’t an easy process. Often, no one had the patience. “I mean, sure, I can. It’s not… quite as… exciting as it sounds.”

            “I want to see what you’ve taken so far,” Bilbo murmured, turning to face Thorin and the adventurer swallowed thickly at that open expression, that _willingness_. Thorin grunted and turned away- Bilbo of course, didn’t understand and tried to ask Thorin what was wrong. “What is it? Thorin!”

            “Sorry I…” He cleared his throat and returned to face the writer. “It’s uh… nothing.” Though he knew his cheeks were brightening, he wasn’t sure what to say. He’d wanted to kiss him just then. So far, it had been easy. Suppressing his desires by laughing or joking with Bilbo had satiated any need for anything more with the writer. But… _just_ then…? Thorin had felt like kissing the writer for no other reason than _wanting_ too. He’d looked so eager, so curious and so excited to learn-

            “Oh, tell me,” Bilbo huffed a bit. He was smiling though and so Thorin bit his tongue and swallowed.

            “You uh, wouldn’t appreciate such words,” Thorin chose instead, glancing back to Bilbo whose spirits seemed to dampen at the words.

            “Are you really upset? I can help you put the trail back together and even—“

            “No, no, it’s not that,” Thorin pursed his lips in worry and thought, looking about as if the room could provide him with an answer. With _words._  “I just…” his eyes slowly flitted back to Bilbo, and rested there for a while before he just _relented._ “It just came to me, t-that… I… s-sort of…”

            “You’re stuttering,” Bilbo said softly in disbelief. Thorin’s shoulders slumped.

            “Yes, I know,” he hummed and looked away then returned to face Bilbo again with a breath. “I wanted to kiss you.” Those eyebrows shot up on Bilbo’s forehead and Thorin quickly leaned away, to explain, harried. “You just looked, t-taken with what I was saying and absorbed and… cute, I, I suppose.” Thorin moved himself some distance from Bilbo to give the image he wasn’t trying to impose himself on the writer. “I don’t know where it came from but, I just had an urge…” he rubbed his nose. Then he rubbed from his eyes up to his forehead.

            “What, no one’s ever shown an interest before?” Thorin sighed.

            “Sure they saw an interest… in what I was going to make when I _returned_ ,” Thorin was flustered, was avoiding his eyes and jittery. “A few people I really cared for seemed to be interested in travelling, but, the moment I said we would be backpacking or hiking, the questions became about how long, when, and then I would hear- I don’t really want to go there and… it… became annoying more for me.” Thorin slouched- “Just knowing I invested so much of my time trying to share my interests with other people, it… it just _felt_ rewarding that you could look at me like that; eager and _fascinated.”_ He let his head bow, and took a shaky breath- for all he knew Bilbo was disconcerted. He could have also been stunned, but otherwise unaffected. What _was_ the writer thinking of?

            Would he judge Thorin? Would he lose this chance?

            “I… I’ve never had anyone want to kiss me _compulsively_ due to me expressing my interests in their… hobbies,” Bilbo said quietly and Thorin slowly raised his eyes, then his head. Bilbo beamed to Thorin, comfortable. No, it was not what he had expected, but it certainly held no threat. And he _certainly_ wouldn’t protest being swept away ag-again… Maker. “It would have been a pleasant surprise.” Thorin’s mouth fell open and Bilbo laughed, helping to close it. “Do I get a kiss for making you speechless again?”

            Thorin had to shake his head, turning away with a grin, chewing his bottom lip. “Oh, are you shy too?” Bilbo leaned against Thorin, brows high with playful curiosity. “Or is my reward a bit more devious than a kiss?” Their eyes met and there was this… unspoken provocation that went between them and Thorin closed their distance.

            “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I asked for more,” he whispered, their foreheads bumping gently together, noses rubbing back and forth. “Though if you were to offer that, I would not take it, you are far too playful and teasing.” Bilbo’s eyes dropped every so often to watch Thorin’s lips, silently waiting for a kiss. “That was not being wooed, dear writer, that being absolutely smitten with one’s inherent desires to learn, and grow. You’re attracted to intelligence; I am as well- to be an earnest student, to want more than one perspective…” Thorin let out a low growl but nudged his nose against Bilbo’s before drawing away, biting his lips with a swallow and a moan. “That face couldn’t have been more satisfying to me.” Bilbo was red.

            His eyes were blown open, mouth falling open, his chest tight and one hand came to clutch at his shirt with a gasp. Thorin just smirked and went back to eyeing his map. “I think that’s a bit of drool right there.” He pointed, though not specifically to a place on Bilbo’s mouth as he quickly went to wipe at his face, his ears tingeing pink as well.

            “W… that… that isn’t fair, Thorin,” Bilbo rubbed his face, as if to feel its temperature.

            “Fair? I didn’t steal a kiss,” He pouted a bit- “I simply explained what I felt after you said I had more devious thoughts in mind.” Their eyes connected- “or would you have preferred the more devious—“

            “N! No!” Bilbo flailed a bit and Thorin laughed as Bilbo moved to retrieve the other maps, splaying them across his lap the way he had found them. After a while Bilbo finally managed a peep- “S-So… W… Where are we going?” They spent the rest of the evening mapping their path, easily a month long venture through the rainforest, maybe even two he said, what with the weather there. Bilbo’s cheeks had remained red, though Thorin never made another move or encroached upon his space. The adventurer thought he had spent enough time riling the writer, and he would see how he felt about this _more than a kiss_ bit later on.

            If it was good, well, Thorin might just have to tell him of both the innocent _and_ devious intentions he held for the writer sooner than expected.

            After they had a tentative trail plotted, Thorin and Bilbo folded up his maps and the adventurer stood, offering a hand to Bilbo. “W-What am I? Old?”

            “Hardly,” Thorin smirked, but Bilbo did take it, and Thorin did help him to stand, though tugged him a bit closer than necessary, watching those eyes owl.

            “O-Oh I see, y-you’re trying to get me to forfeit a kiss,” He chided, playfully stepping from Thorin who just chuckled, allowing the writer to move away.

            “Perhaps,” they found their ways to a dining cart, sitting down at a small window booth, picking out food for dinner. There were no untoward moves made directed to Bilbo, no, Thorin knew it was not right to press himself so _completely_ upon the writer. Though he suspected the writer would not have minded, he would not push it- this was a tentative sort of thing they had going. Thorin had never expected that the writer would allow such kisses to continue. He had never thought this game would stretch on for so long.

            He found himself able to sit closer to the writer, slinging an arm about his shoulders only seemed to encourage Bilbo to snuggle in a bit closer. However there was a bit of hesitancy to Thorin’s actions at first, the train ride had never been faster.

            They arrived and were encouraged with the decent weather, though it was a bit chilly, it was not as bitter as where they had originated. Fili and Kili seemed to pick up on the lightened mood of their Uncle and Bilbo, for each took their time and tugged one aside, for seemingly _harmless_ conversation.

            Today was Kili’s turn to wander ahead with his Uncle as they made their trek through the gentle hillsides.

            “Uncle, Mister Bilbo seems like a good fellow,” Thorin chuckled at his nephews perking question, but waited for him to finish. “It just seems that maybe you've been… playing this game a bit too long?” Those chestnut eyes gleamed with a bit of mischievousness, and a bit of seriousness too. “I mean, Fili and I play all the time, but…” the brunette turned his head to look over his shoulder, Fili and Bilbo were chatting about… something. He pointed to the birds, to a tree, and Bilbo was engrossed in them, so he didn’t notice the look the brother’s engaged in.

            “But what?”

            “Well,” he let his eyes flicker back to his Uncle’s. “We’re able to end the game, or call it quits, and be friendly still.” He pursed his lips, licking them in thought before- “I mean, we’re able to I don’t know, satisfy that… end game frustration I suppose.” Thorin’s cheeks brightened a bit, a rare time for Kili to witness it too. “You just keep playing a game, and Mister Bilbo doesn’t really like it.”

            “How do you know if he likes the game or not?” Thorin snapped and Kili- Kili backed away for a moment.

            “We haven’t said anything, Uncle, I promise, but I was talking to him and…” he shrugged.

            “And?” Thorin pressed and Kili saw more than just a flush of anger, there was contempt, a bit of betrayal leaked in there, along with a load of worry and sadness.

            “W-Well, I think he thinks it’s just something you’re doing to pass time,” he squeaked out. “I don’t really think he likes games like you’re playing, trying to get at his heart, he’s a straightforward sort of folk.” Kili scratched at his jaw idly. “I think he feels foolish playing along. He hasn’t said it, in fact, he seems to enjoy it…”

            “But you think he’s uninterested?”

            “Not with _you_ , but, well, I don’t know,” Kili shrugged. “It should be Fili telling you this, I’m not… wordy like you and Mister Bilbo.” He heaved a sigh and Thorin rested his hand on his nephews shoulder.

            “You think he would enjoy the game, if it _weren’t_  a game,” Kili nodded then to his Uncle’s statement. “And you think, I should just _talk_ to him.”

            “Yeah, I mean, what harm could it do? He likes you enough,” but there was something in that that made Thorin chilled. Made his blood turn to ice. _Enough._ No, friendship wasn’t enough- it had _stopped_ being enough when he made this game, when he kissed Bilbo- Maker had it been _longer_ than that?

            Had it been during those that time, all those weeks ago when Bilbo had gotten sick? Or was it sooner? Maker, he wasn’t even sure when he had _come_ to this conclusion, save that it was on his mind all the time. Liking him ‘enough’ wasn’t an option. “You want him to like you _more_ than that.” Kili murmured, but Thorin didn’t speak. _Struck_ that their Uncle might actually have _fallen_ in love, he stopped, letting Thorin move forward on his own.

            “Kili?” Fili had questioned, a bit flustered the youth had left their Uncle alone. It was supposed to be sly, their spending time with their Uncle and Bilbo. “What’s wrong?”

            “Um,” Kili frowned a bit and then turned. “I think Uncle needs to use the uh… tree… for a bit.”

            “Really?” Fili quirked a brow, but the youth beamed.

            “I think so, his face scrunched up all cock-eyed,” he giggled.

            “Is he alright? Does his stomach hurt?” Bilbo piped and looked to Thorin and Kili shook his head.

            “N-No just… I think I bothered him,” he bowed his head then. That was _honest_ to a degree. Kili had an _idea_ he had upset his Uncle in _some_ respect, but what had made Thorin continue on and Kili pause was this look he’d never seen his Uncle wear before, save once.

            When he was young; it was the day their great grandfather had written them out of the will. It was the week he had passed. Thorin had been angry, there was a cold and dark rage that trembled within him, but deeper than that… deeper than that there was a _depression_. A sadness that was like a rot, slowly ebbing away the joy and happiness obtainable in this world- small things like a bird’s song or a flowers bloom held no life, no color. A party was dull despite its flamboyant celebrations.

            And Kili had seen that flicker of dread resurface. Over… Over Mister Bilbo, who had enough heart to worry, despite Fili and Kili reassuring him it was nothing but the youngest being a brat. That night, Kili confided in Fili about the look and decided that, no matter how brief, it needed to be brought up. Fili admitted Bilbo was wholly unaware or unassuming of Thorin’s games, as that was all it had been. Perhaps Bilbo did accept that Thorin said it was game, that despite their close relationship, it was nothing but that; skinship. A strange sort of way to bond, but, he’d seem unaffected.

            They curled up that night, whispering what they could do to get either of them into a confession, but Thorin shouted for them to silence themselves.

            “It _is_ night time you two!” Thorin groaned and then there was silence… before Bilbo’s giggle began to peter up through their camp. “Really? Really!” Thorin chided the writer, which only had Fili and Kili joining in the laughter, much to their Uncle’s disgruntlement. “Maker save me from the three of you!” Eventually the laughter ceased, and the conversations died out-

            “Maybe all we have to do is get Bilbo to admit he likes Uncle,” Kili breathed against Fili’s chest. “I bet it wouldn’t be as hard as getting Uncle to do it.”

            “I think you’re onto something,” Fili smiled, pecking soft brown hair. “Maybe if we get Uncle to pester him, be you know, suave or cute, or tender.”

            “Oh, that would work!”

            The following few days travelling were easy and amiable. The weather was chilled, and Bilbo still wore much of his layers, though they had sold _quite_ a few things at their last stop. Thorin said they would depart with what else they had to buy more airy and water-resilient clothing for their trip to a wetter climate. He insisted to Bilbo, who seemed hesitant to part with such clothing, that the weather would be hot, and evenings at best would be chilly, but nothing like what they had experienced here.

            Indeed, arriving in town had seen them rid themselves of their winter gear, though Bilbo would not part with the pajamas Thorin had bought him. Thorin had said they were simple, could be bought anywhere and reinscribed, but Bilbo held onto them tightly, away from Thorin’s grip. He wanted to keep them! They were a gift and Thorin sighed-

            “You’re not getting rid of your _coat_ because it’s a rainforest!” Thorin stiffened and chuckled, though, stroking at the soft fur idly, as if recalling it had been there.

            “Alright, have it your way, it is more for you to haul,”

            “Oh like I can’t carry an extra set of pants,” Bilbo tutted.

            “When it’s hot you’ll regret it,” Thorin chided, but Bilbo beamed brightly.

            “I do not regret a single gift I have,” which had made Thorin pause in his transaction of selling their excess warm clothes, looking to the writer who was eyeing a few fancy cloths oblivious to Thorin’s heavy stare. He took their money and headed out. Together, they bought a few more things in town. “How come we haven’t gotten more?” Bilbo asked quietly.

            “We’ll buy some when we get there,” Thorin said in return. “They’ll have better clothing for sale there, and cheaper than it is here.” He smiled and let his arm rest upon Bilbo’s shoulders. “Excited for warmer weather?”

            “Ah ha, just because I don’t like winter, doesn’t make a summery person,” Bilbo responded. “It will be nicer, I suppose?”

            “Save for the rain,”

            “It’s going to rain?” Bilbo repeated. “In winter?” Thorin chuckled but nodded. “But you know how to keep us er, mostly dry?”

            “No, I’m going there to get soaked,” he teased. “Yes, I know how to keep us dry. Well, our things. When it rains, we probably won’t move for the duration of rain.” Bilbo hummed to this. “But we’ll be getting ponchos for our packs, and for us too,it won’t do much, but at least our things will be dry.”

            When they settled at their inn for the evening, Fili and Kili were curled upon the floor, laying upon warm furs, smiling at their return. They did get up to show Uncle they did sell their things and had gotten a few extras smaller poncho-like things for their trip, including containers for food as well. Thorin flopped to one of the chairs and Bilbo took the couch, though got up to get his journal.

            “We have a lot to write, Thorin,” Bilbo craned his head over to see Thorin who eyed him gently, observing. “You know, to get to the end in time.”

            “In time for what?” Fili questioned, settling back to the floor with his brother.

            “Well,” Bilbo’s lips pursed. “I only signed on until the end of Spring, I sort of imagined we’d be well on our way _home_ by now, thinking we’d go somewhere _far_ first and then return…” he rubbed his neck.

            “What if the story isn’t finished?” Kili interjected.

            “I’m not going to _leave_ just because the book isn’t done,” Bilbo reclined in the couch. “Just… maybe I miss home a bit. I’m excited to see the end, and if it rains as Thorin says it will, that isn’t a lot of time to plop down and write.”

            “We _are_ a bit behind,” Thorin hummed. “We should probably at least have seven and eight done whilst on the train, and pass them off in town.”

            “Well, I’m ahead of you in that, most of seven is scripted,” Bilbo chimed in, the adventurer glancing to him. “And I have eight’s main ideas written down, and… nine too. But, it will take time, I could finish seven and eight on the train!” Thorin took out his pipe and laid back in his chair, leaving the writer to his work, satisfied and confident the writer would finish. Thorin was content to rest his eyes and fiddle with the stone Bilbo had bought for him about his neck. It hadn’t bothered him, as he had worried, it was easy enough to tuck into his shirt, and was not noticed until he was asleep. Fili and Kili caught Thorin playing with the stone, and asked if Thorin would play his fiddle, since he was just sitting idle. A bit annoyed, Thorin _did_ rise to fetch it, asking if music bothered the writer. “It actually helps me write.”

            Those two nights at the inn, music had filled their room, helping the writer to finish whatever it was he was working on. Each time Bilbo told Thorin he was a superb violinist, though the adventurer believed that to be simple kindness. He’d never have known Bilbo truly thought him _skilled_ with an instrument.

            Boarding the train was a bit easier, it was packed with a lot of people, but many got off at the stops the train came to. Fili and Kili wanted to take Bilbo out for lunch, though Thorin chided them and said he had a lot of work to do, though it did _little_ to stop them from having their routine lunch. Thorin was left in the room, watching the scenery slowly starting to change from hillsides and plateau’s to farmland. He moved to Bilbo’s journal to see what he had written so far and found, a few sketches.

            A few of _him_ actually. Thorin hadn’t seen the writer draw since the first time he had been allowed to flip through it with his permission. He smiled softly at the images- Bilbo had caught wonderful images of him, doing small things, eating, whittling, one seemed to be of him sleeping. He wondered when these had been done, or if he just hadn’t caught them before. Bilbo had brought _several_ journals, and this one held the ideas for chapter six, and most of the story, and it had most of seven. Bits of eight. He corrected a few things, added a bit of his own and set it aside- his thoughts lingering upon the writer. He rolled over his nephews words carefully. Thorin wondered if just sitting the writer down and telling him how he felt was such a good idea. That never seemed to work in fantasies _or_ in reality.

            But keeping it from him _obviously_ wasn’t going anywhere either. That night found Thorin _dimly_ aware his body had reacted to thoughts of Bilbo. It was flushed with heat again. _Perfect timing._ He thought and pressed a hand to the heat between his legs while grunting. He sat up and tiptoed through their cart, and down to find the restroom. He’d relieved himself there without any worries.

            And just like the first time, thoughts of the writer flooded his mind as he stroked himself to completion, the way he laughed or blushed, the way his hazel eyes would light up at Thorin. The adventurer came quietly murmuring his pleasure, but the name that slipped from his lips startled him more; Bilbo. Just at the end he’d called his name. Relief flooded his body, but his mind began to spin, began to wrack itself for reasons _why_ he’d called the writer’s name. Thorin glanced to the looking glass, there was a flush over his cheeks, he was panting—

 _I’m in so damn deep._ He returned without awakening the others, happy he was able to slip back into bed and find sleep. When he woke Fili was the only one in the room.

            “What now?” Thorin rolled groggily, sitting at the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead.

            “Just wanted to check in Uncle,”

            “On what?” he waved his hand-

            “On you and Mister Bilbo,” waking and recalling he’d spilled the writer’s name as he came was _not_ something he had wished to dwell on- at least not with his nephew. “He seems a bit more… inclined.”

            “About what? Honestly,” He sighed and raised his eyes. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what he wants, and I’m playing it safe.”

            “Safe?” Fili twisted on the bench to lean over it to look at his Uncle better. “I mean, why can’t you just talk to him?”

            “I could,”

            “And what’s stopping you?” Thorin bowed his head.

            “I am,” he half combed at his beard. “I want to know for sure. It’s not like being young, Fili. He’s not the type to just, have a tumble and call it a day. Neither of us are that young, and I don’t think we’re looking for that sort of relationship.” He stood and stretched and Fili continued to stare.

            “So why can’t you ask him?”

            “Is he bothering you with it?”

            “No, but the last time I talked to him, he seemed to be interested,” Fili answered.

            “In what?”

            “In… well, in you,” Fili shrugged. “I couldn’t explain it to Kili either. I said your name a few times, talking about some adventure or some silly story, and there was like… this light that would appear in his eyes.” Fili frowned for a moment, thinking of his words. “He often asks about you. Or at least, asks _us_ about us when we were little, but he really wants to know more about you. Uncle, you like him. A blind man can see that.”

            “But he doesn’t,” no, perhaps for all their youth, they did not see how much Thorin’s game was putting a distance between them. Or perhaps, telling his nephews the kisses during Yule had meant nothing but fun had already set up an unspoken boundary between them. “And you also see that.”

            “That’s why we want you to talk to him, do you think he is shallow enough to leave if he doesn’t like you in return?” Thorin shook his head.

            “I am fiercely desperate to keep this relationship with him, this friendship,” Thorin drew his hair into a ponytail, watching the scenery fly past. “No matter that it has a bit of pain on my end, it would fade. I don’t have to explain how I’m not the friendliest person, having a friend… I don’t know. I value the friendship we have…”

            “More than you value your love?”

            “Yes, Fili, more than my own selfishness, I value his first,” Thorin took a breath, his eyes becoming distant. “I’m glad you don’t have to deal with this.”

            “Deal wit—“

            “Falling in love,” Thorin closed his eyes then. “And realizing that your friendship with them is far more important than anything as… as _whimsical_ as love can be.”

            Fili had finally witnessed that dark little thing growing within their Uncle for himself.

            When Thorin found solstice within the smoke room, he’d never expected Bilbo to join him. Never expected the writer to smile like he knew exactly what Thorin was thinking. They talked for a while, smoking, Thorin hadn’t learned how to make smoke rings any better, but Bilbo attributed that to him not being as _talented_ with his tongue as he had promised.

            Thorin let his eyes wash over the writer for a moment before smiling, fondly. Yes, he valued their friendship. More than he was willing to risk it. Though every time he looked upon the writer, it just seemed to rekindle that flame to share his feelings.

            “Oh, I had a thought,” Thorin hummed then, drawn out of his reverie. “Did you want a romance in our story? I mean, it’s my strong point, but I am _content_ not having one.” Thorin thought, rolling the idea about.

            “What do you think? There isn’t a lot of room for one,” Bilbo nodded agreeing with Thorin.

            “No, I agree, I like where the two protagonists are heading, they have an odd friendship,” Bilbo chuckled. “Maybe it’s even love, deep down.” Odd he should mention the main characters, he felt like he was modeling one of them. “I think it would be nice, to give little hints perhaps, they are more than friends. Nothing like ‘a secret wedding’ or anything. But maybe, in the way they act?”

            “You want to make them _queer_ you mean?” Bilbo’s cheeks reddened a bit.

            “W… well it’s sort of late to change the King to being a woman or the thief,” he shrugged. “I’ve… I’ve never really published a book where… they were, y-you know.”

            “Yet, you write about a prince and princess, in all your books,” he didn’t reprimand, just, commented. It was an strange, for Thorin to hear this confession, stranger even that Bilbo was… well… that it weighed upon him so heavily.

            “W-Well a young prince finding a princess is much more, accepted, or well-read I suppose,” he shrugged lightly. “A-And it’s not like I’m announcing my own preferences either. Just… thought it might be interesting to write.” The blush sold Thorin; he was long convinced the main characters had something brewing between them, though he’d never admit he imagined the little thief to be the writer.

            “Alright,” Thorin lowered his pipe, to sip some of mead they had ordered some time ago. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Master writer.”

            “Oh, I will ask for help, your character is a bit hard to pen, really,” Bilbo blushed. “You have a lot in common with him.”

            “So you want _my_ ideas of how I should be romanced?” He teased and that blush only darkened, those eyes only became avoidant, but playfully. Abashed. “I think you’re doing a fine job at that, don’t you?” He leaned back, smug, until he realized exactly what he had said. A bit of panic seized him. M-Maybe the writer wouldn’t take it that way? Perhaps he would just think he was writing the character well enough! Yes…

            “Well,” Bilbo choked a bit. “I-I hardly think I have m-many points on _my_ side for w-wooing you, Thorin.” Their eyes met tentatively, catching and darting away… before trying once more. “It’s not like you’re easy to read.”

            “I’m wooed,” Thorin smirked though, keeping calm, keeping himself natural with their teasing.

            “So, I guess I have to kiss you?”

            “The deal was I would kiss you, if I wooed you,” He murmured, though his body alit with flames at the thought of another stolen kiss. “Though I won’t be disinclined… to you.”

            “You’re _awful,”_ the writer mumbled and that little flicker of sadness returned and Thorin bowed his head.

            “I am teasing,” he said.

            “I… I know,” this only seemed to _dampen_ the writer. “T-Though I never thought you _could_ be wooed.” His fingers wrung together, and Thorin watched the nervous energy from Bilbo. “I mean, you seem pretty good at wooing, better than most. I guess, I’ve never really been the type to… the type to pursue anything. Or at least, s-so adamantly and persistently.” Thorin was quiet, eyeing the writer, allowing him to work through whatever he was rambling on about. “You mean it though, don’t you?”

            “Hmm?”

            “When you said you’ve been romanced by me?” Those eyes finally raised, full of hope, sorrow, worry, and just _more_ hope.

            “I did,” Thorin lowered his pipe. “I’ve never lied about that. And I’ll be the first to admit, no I don’t show it, but you aren’t such a bad romantic yourself that it turns me away. I thought it might, with that mushy nonsense about rose petals floating in the wind, bit.” Bilbo laughed, though his cheeks were red like such a flower.

            “Well, I don’t need to kiss you,”

            “No, you’re the teacher,” Thorin reminded- _Maker, why am I siding with him?_

            “But I feel like I need some _thing_ for wooing the great dwarf king,” Bilbo looked over, again that hopefulness bloomed, a bit of a smile appearing. Hazel eyes were shining- had Kili talked to Bilbo again in some way? Were those two _really_ so convinced they would their Uncle and the writer together? He felt himself grow a bit tight.

            “So you think I do well enough to reward you?” Bilbo paused and then giggled.

            “Y…Yes,” it was a quiet reply, so Thorin moved his chair towards Bilbo, and reached for his face. The writer backed away at first and Thorin lowered his hand instead, letting the writer lean forward himself. Bilbo waited for Thorin then, who pressed forward, the kiss slow, his tongue sliding over lips that parted easily. Bilbo mewled when Thorin pushed his tongue within, humming as the muscles slid alongside one another. Thorin reached slowly to cup Bilbo’s neck, resting under his jaw, stroking past his ear.  Fingers traced the column of his neck, tantalizingly soft, enough for a gasp, for chills to appear. Another hand stroked his jaw, and felt a purring in the writer’s throat, a _tremble_ of pleasure.

            And then… the kiss was ended. Abruptly.

            Bilbo tore apart with a mewl, and a nudge to Thorin’s hands. “U-unbelievable, u-using my weak spot against me.” Thorin eyed his hands that had just given a touch to his neck, a chuckle on his lips.

            “My, I knew it was sensitive, I’ll remind myself of that later, so I can practice my kiss better,” he smirked and Bilbo gaped but there was a hint of upset there. Just a tad. When they both retired for bed, Bilbo did shrug from Thorin’s arm, a shiver had crumbled the writer’s nerves. Normally, Thorin would not have questioned the gesture, would not have lingered upon it, save… that tonight Bilbo sped forward after the shrug. Save, that Bilbo…

            That Bilbo had drawn from a kiss, from Thorin’s invasive hands.

            Thorin found that, when sleep came, it only drew _more_ energy from his deprived and overworked brain. _I need a drink._

            Their trip stuck in the cabin for several more days could not be more drawn out, he thought, _I need the fresh air to think about…_ he stiffened. ..a _bout what isn’t there._


	17. Vellétié

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Bilbo needed was a simple confirmation of what the Game was- a simple yes or no would have sufficed. Maker knows, all he had to do was ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, half way done (more or less) with the story (I think)! Moving things right along, chapter 17 is between Thorin and Bilbo's perspective, and quuuuuuuite an interesting development gets made! 
> 
> We'll see how it develops later on, for good or worse.
> 
> (oh a btw, the first part of the story is from Bilbo's perspective of the DAY OF the incident from Chp. 16 ending)  
> Vellétié (n): a wish or powerful desire for something that nonetheless is not or cannot be followed by actions meant to pursue it [wordstuck.co.vu]

             **Chapter 17: **Vellétié****

            Fili and Kili had spent hours as children plotting both small things and big things together. How to get cookies from the kitchen, enough for them both. How to get their Uncle to chase them around to bump into their other Uncle so the boys had something to laugh at. Oh, and they were cunning and devious too if they needed to be. Their mother often chastised them for their pranks, but always would fall for them.

            When it came to Thorin, they spent hours romping with the eldest brother of their family. Thorin loved them, adored them, treasured them. And they realized as they got older, they had less pranks for their Uncle; less things that made him smile. Made him laugh. He was so strong, for them, and all they wanted was to lighten the load, and see their Uncle again chasing them happily about their home.

            So when they were given that chance, they took it up without question. Originally conceived, the plan was quite easy; get the lovely writer, Bilbo, to admit or confess something, or even their Uncle. There was a great friendship blossoming there, and also a lot of affection and love. And not just friendly love. There was a passion, it started as but sparks, sparks that would light a candle and that candle would become a flame- but they weren’t quite at the steamy bits, no actually very far from it.

            And Fili and Kili decided they would have to step in to help. So Kili found himself courting Bilbo to breakfast- he didn’t fight it either, he was tugged along with a smile; their talks had been tentative with Bilbo, as to coax him into admitting things. And he admitted a lot. Kili was easy to speak with, or so Bilbo had told him. Friendly, easy to laugh with, a bit spunky, but full of good energy. So…

            Kili had to ask.

            “What sort of energy does Uncle give off?” He was beaming, and Bilbo’s cheeks darkened before he could even finish the sentence. The writer sipped some of his coffee a bit nervously, and then looked out the window.

            “It depends,” he murmured, watching the valleys pass by. “Sometimes, I feel like I’ve known him since I was a child. Other times, though less and less. I feel like we’re strangers, and there is a tension between us.” Bilbo bowed his head then with a chuckle. “He has good energy too, though it’s…” he pondered over words, nitpicking which would suit their Uncle best.

            Patience was not, however, Kili’s strong point at all.

            “What? What is it?” Though it was never frustrating to hear of the youth’s impatience.

            “It’s refined,” Bilbo found himself smirking. Thorin had called himself refined, when compared to his nephews. Had once, he’d been so energetic and happy with his own brother? Had they once shared in laughter and giggles, had Thorin once not had a weight on his shoulders that was more burdening than satisfying? “It’s calm, but it’s happy, and energetic, but it’s very… it’s very calm.”

            “That’s Uncle,” Kili leaned on one arm, cupping his face in his hand. “Uncle’s always been cool, collected, except when we were babes. Fili and I. He’d play chase, make believe, he’d be a dragon and we the fierce knights!” They laughed together and then Kili grew quiet, he grew contemplative, a look Bilbo had never really seen the youths wear. “I was little, so I don’t remember a lot of it. I heard it mostly from Fili, from mum. From dad. But I always remember him smiling, I always remember there was a brightness when we went to go see Uncle Thorin; it was like Yule every day.”

            “But… Your great… grandfather? Signed you…?” Kili lowered his eyes.

            “I was 12. Fili was 14. We didn’t know better, or maybe, we did,” He sunk a bit and Bilbo reassured him with a smile, a stroke to his arm. “He was so mad at us, great grandfather, furious. Maybe a bit delusional. He wrote us out of the will, we had shared far too many…er… moments together, things he found… queer. But Uncle…” he smiled widely then. “He fought so hard, he was so mad for us when we didn’t understand it. We have a bit of the company back, or what would have been our great grandfathers will. Because of Uncle…” he lifted his eyes to meet Bilbo’s. “Since then… I’ve never seen him smile though. And most _definitely_ not as much as he does now.”

            “What changed?”

            “You,” Kili said and that sadness had vanished, as if they had been on a lighter topic all this time. Perhaps it was the youth, that pressed him forward, or that he knew he’d always be loved by those that mattered most. It was brave and encouraging, enlightening for Bilbo to see. Except that little part about Thorin smiling more because of him.

            That had his throat tightening. “He smiles around you all the time. He enjoys you.”

            “U-Uh,” Bilbo coughed.

            “I mean, not enjoys you like that,” Kili giggled. “Or maybe you’d enjoy that—“

            “N-Now-now s-see here, y-young man!”

            “Aww, Mister Bilbo you’re stuttering!” the brunette cheered. “How is it?”

            “H-How is—what are you talking—“

            “The kissing game?” Kili perked and Bilbo huffed at him, defeated. He’d give in. “I mean, it’s still on right?”

            “It… It is,” Kili was awaiting more than that from the writer. “Not exactly sure what you want to hear…” Bilbo fiddled with his coffee and took a sip. “I don’t really know if we’re actually keeping score, or if we are who’s winning. Not… sure if there is a winner.”

            “It sounds kind of boring then,” Kili sagged obviously uninterested.

            “W-Well, I didn’t make it up,” He countered with a huff. Sure, perhaps, it could use something more, but it seemed alright, as a game, Thorin hadn't been… pressing upon him, hand't been pushy. Oddly, setting aside the odd squishy hot feeling that boiled in his gut after every kiss, or the woozy feeling he encountered when only thinking of Thorin’s kiss was… a bit curious. After all, Thorin had said it was just a game. A game, Bilbo thought, that doesn’t really have a purpose or end.

            “You two should spice it up,” Bilbo raised his eyes, a bit wide. “I mean, it sounds great. Kissing. But isn’t it boring now? Maybe a little caress or grope to get the party started.”

            “Uh, I don’t want a party,” Bilbo insisted, but the thought was… interesting.

            “I mean, it couldn’t hurt, you’re already kissing, how could a stroke of the cheek or a hand tangled in the hair be bad?” Kili beamed. “Uncle might lose more quickly, or even end the game. He might be cowed. He’s not used to someone challenging him and winning.”

            The writer took those words to heart, and when he found Thorin alone in the smoke room that night- he tried to use that knowledge. And frightened himself. He supposed he hadn’t quite expected it. Thorin wasn’t unpredictable, he had grown fairly easy to read, of course with Thorin opening up to the writer. That night was supposed to be fun-filled with new discoveries that their game could be prolonged into caresses- Thorin was gentle and calm, timid even, as a... lover. And Bilbo hadn't realized that his withdrawal from those touches, that his reclusive behavior only made Thorin smile, cease the game for the night and… walk him to bed.

            He was a mess of jitters and nerves, he could hardly stand to touch himself, let alone be in the arms of Thorin, who tried to be friendly and drape an arm over his shoulder. A shrug away and Thorin relented entirely, as they returned to their cabin for the night.

            Bilbo meant to speak with Thorin, he did. The next morning found Thorin looking through Bilbo’s journal. Not a surprise, they had written quite a lot in the time spent on the train.

            “Ah, good morning Thorin,” Bilbo smiled, bright eyed.

            “Morning,” he murmured. Now Bilbo wouldn’t have taken the curt reply as anything more than Thorin concentrating, except for the tone. Short, clipped,… groggy. As if not wanting to respond at all.

            “Have you had breakfast—“

            “I did,” Thorin murmured and Bilbo gripped the bed sheets.

            “O… oh,” Bilbo rubbed his neck, the tension apparent. Was Thorin that into editing he didn’t wish to speak with him? Maybe he hadn’t slept well? “Well I’m going to grab some breakfast. Would like a coffee? Another?” He stood, stretched, but Thorin just shook his head.

            “I’m fine, thank you,” Bilbo outright frowned.

            “Where is Fili and Kili?”

            “Breakfast,” he said curtly and the writer moved to dress, slowly, eyeing Thorin the entire time. The adventurer never looked, never stopped, and he certainly didn’t seem concerned.

            “Um—“

            “If by chance you see a trolly, could you send them down? I could use some water,” again there wasn’t a glance over.

            “S-Sure, Thorin,”

            “Thank you,” and Bilbo stepped out, his chest felt tight. Something had to be wrong. Was he upset with Bilbo, for drawing away? What had happened in between the night before and now? Did he say something? Maybe it was the story?

            Bilbo was in the dining hall when he ran into Fili and Kili, sitting at a table, waving him over. He went to sit, but stared at the coffee given.

            “What’s wrong Mister Bilbo?” Kili asked and the writer sighed.

            “Is your Uncle being weird with you?” Fili exchanged a look with his brother and then, glanced to Bilbo.

            “He was a bit on the prickly side,” he said, fishing for something. Fili and Kili had woken in good spirits, thinking their Uncle and Bilbo, as they were out together late, had maybe done something successful. When Thorin had woken, they tried to ask, but he ceased their conversation before it had begun. Told them not to talk about it.

            “I thought you two might know,” Bilbo rubbed his neck again, finally moving to fix up his coffee and sip it. “It was fine last night… except…”

            “Except what?” Fili said softly.

            “I think, I don’t know, I tried to… spice up the game,” in which as Bilbo said this, he caught Fili narrowing his eyes at Kili who had just shrugged. “He reached for my neck-“

            “To choke you?!” Kili gasped and Bilbo groaned, shaking his head.

            “No, just, like to hold it,” he reached for Kili, his hand scooping at his jaw and holding his head.  “Like this.” And Kili nuzzled into it like a cat.

            “Oh I like this,” He giggled and Bilbo withdrew his hand with a playful sneer. “And? How did it go?”

            “I… pulled away,”

            “Wait! Why! That feels so nice,” Kili cooed, leaning forward on his elbows, looking much younger than his age.

            “I got… My neck is really sensitive, and it’s sort of embarrassing, sometimes I just rub it and I moan,” Fili and Kili’s brows rose, giggling quietly and Bilbo let them soak it in for a moment. “I was so jittery the rest of the night, like I expected more. But… nothing happened. I wooed him. So I said I needed a bigger reward than a kiss… to get him to respond and I panicked maybe?” Bilbo rubbed his eyes then. “I don’t even know if that is why he’s fussy today.” The writer ducked his head, but it was Fili that tapped his arm, raising his eyes.

            “I think it was a bit, um,” He glanced to Kili. “A bit of both you and maybe him. I… I talked to Uncle yesterday, curious too, about your little game.” Bilbo pursed his lips, and the blonde raised his hands defensively. “We are curious lads!” But the writer relented then. “He… I think he might be a bit frightened.”

            “I’m sorry, we are talking about Uncle Thorin, right?” Oh good, Bilbo thought, I am not the only one shocked by this. Kili was just as startled, if not a bit more.

            “No, really,” Fili assured. “I think… he values your friendship. Very much. He… almost treasures your company, you have to remember, Uncle has not done something fun for a decade or more. I can’t even remember the last time he took a trip.”

            “It was that one through the Misty Mountains, wasn’t it?” Kili questioned and Fili nodded. “Eight years ago?"

            “Yeah, that was fun business,” Fili waved his hand though. “Maybe he thinks he pressed you?” Bilbo sat back, sipping his coffee, debating if that could have been it. He had been so interested, that look as he reached to cup his face last night. Bilbo touched his cheek gingerly, the memory lit a warmth in his chest and gut. He’d pulled away like he’d been burned or shocked. “I think you should talk to him.”

            “I think I shouldn’t,” Bilbo tutted. “I tried, and he all but shut me out!” He let his head fall back. “It’s like we… it’s like when we were first strangers.”

            “And what might the three of you be gossiping on?” Thorin had his pipe in his mouth, and all three jumped to look at him, eyes blown wide. “Mmm, gossip it was then.” Thorin seemed in a better mood, perhaps it had been writing? “Might I have a word, boys?” He waved them off and they stood off as Thorin took a seat beside Bilbo. “Don’t let them get in the way of your writing.” He said softly.

            “Oh, I just came to have breakfast-“

            “I don’t like chapter 9 at all,” Bilbo frowned a bit. “I wrote what should happen, but it lacked the strength of the others.” Thorin raised his eyes to Fili and Kili looking over furtively. “So, I’ll get them to finish and leave you be.” He dropped the journal to the table and Thorin had stood.

            “Um, Thorin?” the man turned and Bilbo tipped in his chair to see him. “I’m sorry.” Those brows furrowed together a bit, the frown deepening. He didn’t respond right away.

            “About what, Master Baggins?” The deliberate pause told Bilbo he knew exactly what he had been apologizing for.

            “Y-Yesterday, er, last night,” the frown remained. “I, I wasn’t prepared to… well, I just got really nervous and it was fine—“

            “Think nothing of it,” Thorin had turned again, headed away. He came to his nephews and tossed his head back to Bilbo. Their eyes glanced over their Uncle’s shoulders, and then he left. Bilbo spun about back to his journal, as Fili and Kili resumed their seats. There was a gloom that hung about them-

            “I’m sorry, Mister Bilbo,” Kili muttered. “If I hadn’t told you to press Uncle, you wouldn’t have gotten—“

            “No, I should… I should focus,” he glanced at the journal. He took his coffee and slunk back to his cabin- just another day of this. It was entirely awkward, for them all, to meet with Thorin.

            When the adventurer had returned to the cabin that evening, it seemed he was the only one oblivious to the tension that hung like smoke in the room. Kili was the one to mention an elephant being in here somewhere, and for that Thorin had chided him on comments on things he had no knowledge of. Bilbo in all their time together had never witnessed Thorin as a harsh parent or guardian over his nephews. He got mad with them, sure, he punished, absolutely. The wrath Kili had summoned though was _nothing_ but over exaggerated. They went to bed, and had they tails, they’d be tucked between their legs.

            Thorin’s anger rekindled when they landed upon Bilbo, but the writer didn’t cower away and soon,… the adventurer let his shoulders fall. Their silent glare-off had Bilbo triumphant in soothing Thorin. That night the four of them found sleep tense, and when they woke, Thorin was quiet, and soft. Polite even, in a sweet way. He got them breakfast, but did not eat with them. He made sure they all were packed and ready to depart the train when it would come to their stop.

            They arrived late that afternoon, but it seemed that the town was bustling with its own residents as well as other travelers waiting for other trains and carriages. Thorin guided them to several inns, each filled, until they came to a small inn, some mile nearly from the train station. It didn’t matter, they’d set off regardless of their place, but the four of them were wiped when they arrived. The inn was small, they were afforded two rooms, a wash room and a living room. Though then given the key and shown within,  what they found could hardly be called a living room. A long couch with a fireplace, and a tiny hallway to the washroom. The bedrooms to the right, beside one another. The rooms were even smaller to boot! They stared with a bit of disbelief, but they would make do.

            Bilbo went about setting his things out and rifling through the town name to find out if Gandalf had any contacts- the least he could do to please Thorin’s anger and rage was to send off his missives. Chapter Nine could be finished in the time they would remain here. Maybe even Chapter Ten if Bilbo kept a wary eye upon the brothers, who also seemed to be shucking out of their Uncle’s view. Thorin gave money to Fili and Kili to run down to the market they had passed to pick up some food for them.

            “I thought I saw some nice salted pork back there,” He smiled softly though it was strained, and his nephews seemed hesitant to return it. “And you may pick up some mead too, if you insist.” He chuckled and their grins reappeared. He watched them go with a smile, but his eyes flickered to Bilbo who had remained within their room since he had come inside. Thorin came in to find Bilbo sitting at his bed, staring down at his journal as if it had done him some great wrong. He’d never seen the writer look at it with such contempt, and he realized it was probably because of what he had said, the morning before. He heaved a breath and Bilbo finally raised his eyes to Thorin.

            Bilbo closed it quickly with a snap, setting it to the nightstand and fidgeted for a moment. “Come here.” Thorin waved his hand over and Bilbo shakily rose, coming to the stand before Thorin. The adventurer had leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. “I… need to apologize for how I acted.” Hazel eyes widened, flicking up to meet his, though he could not keep the gaze for long. “I know it doesn’t change the fact I acted inappropriately, but I would ask if you would forgive me. A-At your leisure, of course.”

            “If you told me what was wrong,” Bilbo wrung his fingers together. “I would be more than happy to help change to—“

            “It’s not you,” he laughed. “I imagine that sounds a bit typical. But I mean it, I reacted without real cause.” But he knew the writer didn’t believe him. He _himself_ didn’t believe the trash he was spilling. “I feared I had made you… look- I was upset because I did something I shouldn’t have. And I took my anger out in a very wrong way; against you.” He extended his hand to Bilbo’s shoulder and… stopped. Just short of reaching its destination. It fell with a weighty pat, before returning as if burned.

            “You thought I was scared,” Thorin’s lips pursed, but he said nothing. “When you tried to kiss me the night before.” Thorin glanced off which answered Bilbo’s question for him. “I wasn’t… expecting it. Thorin, perhaps I… should have been the one to make the move.” Those gray blue eyes returned, glazed over with the news. Shocked. “I was… thinking… and I… I reacted wrong too and I should have just said something.”

            “You didn’t even want my arm around your shoulder,” Thorin snarled lowly, though with little threat on his voice. More criticizing the writer’s words than angered. Disbelieving.

            “I know, I got nervous, I could… I couldn’t even rest my hands on my belly, Thorin, when I slept,” he shivered a bit and blushed brightly. “You made me all jittery. So, I’m sorry too. And of course I forgive you. Just don’t be like that again, you can tell me. You can tell me anything. No doubt I’ve prattled on long enough about my own history and silly things.” Thorin relaxed and took a large even breath, smiling down to the writer.

            “Fair enough,” he murmured in return, though Thorin did not believe he could truly tell the writer what was really causing such turmoil.

            “Can I see your hand?” The question caught Thorin off guard, so he extended his hand to Bilbo who held it and then… slowly brought it closer to him, closer until fingertips brushed against his neck. Thorin drew his hand back immediately, straightening and Bilbo huffed, rolling his eyes. “Give me.” He _demanded_ again and Thorin’s brows furrowed, his head shook ‘no’ just the slightest. “You don’t believe me. That I didn’t mind. You never got to reward me properly, Master Durin, I do believe you owe me that still.” Bilbo’s hands came to his own hips, balled slightly as he stared up to Thorin expectantly.

            The adventurer let the moment go on for a bit, silence floating between them before Thorin chuckled, smirked. “W-What? Why are you laughing at me?”

            “Not at you, dear writer,” Thorin soothed, the baritone in his voice made Bilbo shiver then, made him straighten. “If you are amendable, I’d let my hands do more than stroke that sensitive neck of yours. Where might they wander?” He was smirking widely, and Bilbo took a breath, though it did little to aid with his shock or breathing for that matter, he seemed to be gaping for air like a fish! “Oh, my, perhaps I needn’t even use my hands, but merely mention them.” A tease-  how could they skip over a fight so quickly? Maker, it stirred _glee_ within the adventurer.

            “I could t-take them just fine, I’ll have you know, Master D-Durin!” Thorin began to close their distance then and Bilbo felt his chest tighten. When he had been drunk he had not felt the clench in his body when Thorin teased him for a kiss during Solstice. Sober, he was completely aware that Thorin was suave, that he was kind and able to woo, and play up that natural dominant charm. Bilbo found himself bumping against the foot of his bed, stopping immediately with the adventurer before him, a smirk as devious as his nephews upon his face. “B-But! But they! They can’t venture south!”

            “No?” Thorin glanced down, though he spent little time _actually_ looking, just to rile the writer up. “Well, what do you consider south?”

            “W-W-south! Just! South!”

            “Waist up, fine then,” Thorin shrugged. “There is _more_ than enough to reward you, with… the northern plains at my fingertips.”

            “You! You didn’t just…” Bilbo shook his head, folding his arms, serious then. “Thorin Durin, I expected a better pick up line than that from someone who has had practice.” He met that teasing stare defiantly. “You must do better. Did you just call my _belly_ a _plain_?!”

            “Should I have been rude and said it was but a wee hill?” those eyes gaped. “Besides.” Thorin shrugged. “What have you to worry about, if you’re used to such crude means of flirtation?”

            “I want a good reward,” Bilbo repeated.

            “I promise nothing less than _fantastic_ ,” Thorin insisted and waited patiently for Bilbo to lower his arms. “And I won’t be bothered if you wish to hold on either.” Bilbo gaped at the adventurer, wholly flushed and surprised. But a calloused hand came to caress his inflamed cheek gently, tipping towards his ear, Bilbo gave a slight tremble. “Oh, are you ears as sensitive as your neck is?”

            “M-Maybe,” Bilbo huffed and Thorin just let the writer think he looked tough, or resistant.

            “Maybe you will let me use my mouth upon them next time,” Bilbo squeaked as his fingers tugged upon the lobe softly, making Bilbo squirm. “I mean, that is a good reward, no? You could try to woo me, I would not cheat.” Using his own words _against_ him!

            “You haven’t proven its worth my time,” Thorin stilled at that, their eyes meeting, drawing Bilbo’s chin upwards by Thorin’s finger.

            “Then let me,” he bowed his head down slowly, their lips parted, and warm breath bounced between them. Thorin finally closed their distance, smashing his mouth against Bilbo’s, sucking in the squeak he issued. He nibbled upon that bottom lip, humming as Bilbo’s fingers found his tunic, gripped it tightly at his chest- the slightest tug had Thorin wrapping his arm around Bilbo’s waist to bring him close, their bodies colliding softly, aligning _just_ perfectly. His free hand was given that permission then, to wander from cheek to jaw, dropping to his oversensitive neck. When his fingers lit upon his pulse Bilbo parted the kiss with a quieted moan, but Thorin captured his reddened lips again.

            Their tongues danced, and Thorin reveled in feeling hot and soft skin beneath his hard fingers. The touch was electric and only became more intense as his hand dipped down to Bilbo’s collar, tracing the collarbone that was tucked underneath skin, barely visible to the eyes.  His hands slipped over his shirt and stroked the ball of his shoulder and ran down his arm. Thorin found that hand clung in his shirt, lifted it from its spot and brought it to his own neck. This time, he allowed Bilbo to draw back, his eyes didn’t meet Thorin’s however. Hazel eyes lit to the hand cupping Thorin’s neck, encouraging him to use those wry fingers if he so chose.

            He was stunned when the writer yanked him down for another kiss- more shocked that Bilbo tangled his fingers into his hair and undid his ponytail. They tugged and held onto his hair and Thorin was given free reign to run his hands up Bilbo’s sides, feeling that body shiver and wiggle in his loose grip. He let a hand move up his front, a thumb found a pert nipple below Bilbo’s tunic, making Bilbo moan against him and tighten his hold in his hair.

            He’d never felt so aware, and so drunk before. Thorin had many lovers that had inspired many things within him, some more than others. However, what was the most shocking to Thorin was that Bilbo not only topped each and every one of his previous lovers, but that the writer didn’t even _need_ to have a physical relationship with Thorin for him to relish him. To lavish him in all pleasures, whatever he was allowed. Thorin moved a hand to the back of Bilbo’s neck, tickling his spine and combing up into his curls before he began to draw back, though keeping the writer close. He nibbled upon his lips, their tongues teased one another, licking lips before Bilbo chewed upon his own. “Well?” Thorin dropped his hand to Bilbo’s waist with the other, eyes falling down to where they were. He pressed his thumbs against hipbones, watching the writer arch against him with a maddening sort of glee and addiction.

            “I… a-alright, that… was worthy,” Bilbo raised his eyes, drawing his hand from Thorin’s hair with a blush. “Er… your hair. I uh... might have tangled it, uh, a bit.”

            “I’m not concerned,” Thorin _grinned_ and then Bilbo began to push at Thorin.

            “You! You did this a-as! As a trick!” He cooed, seemingly scandalized by Thorin. “T-To get another kiss from me! S-So you would win! I knew it!” Bilbo wiped at his mouth, though it was hardly with disgust or regret. “Maker, almighty, Thorin you are a devious lover!” The writer puffed and Thorin laughed loudly.

            “Yes I had my own plans to woo you for another kiss, perhaps if I wooed you good enough, I would be privilege to your wandering hands,” he said against his ear and Bilbo strutted several feet away from the adventurer, cheeks glowing, chest heaving. “Oh, my, all afluster.”

            “S-Shut it, Thorin Durin, or Maker have mercy I will leave you hard and then tell your nephews!” He waved at the man, pacing.

            “Maybe you have already,” Bilbo gaped and shook his head in disbelief.

            “T-Thorin!” Bilbo shook his head and finally moved to sit at his bed and bury his face into his hands, groaning and Thorin moved around, sitting beside him. He let a hand come and ruffle his curls, those hazel eyes raising to meet Thorin’s. There was a moment of relief, of silence, of calming, sitting peacefully beside one another. How could a fight dissipate like fog being lifted as the day waned on? A simple apology, a small conversation and it was like nothing had been distraught and ruffled. Bilbo closed his eyes at the gentle fingers curling in his hair, and Thorin let himself be _taken_ away by such a trusting face.

            A face he had seen many times before- a man that trusted him inexplicitly- why that thought made heat coil or his heart hammer, he’d leave for another time.

            “I thought I had done something wrong,” Thorin murmured. “Touching you. I… I care for you, and I didn’t want to harm you. I think you’ve experienced a fair deal of fearful moments along this journey and I didn’t want to be one of them.”

            “Well you aren’t,” Bilbo beamed and leaned up to peck Thorin’s cheek. “Quite the opposite, you’ve always been the one to see me through. So, we’re still friends, great friends.”

            “Ah, so, the nephews _were_ plotting,” Thorin chuckled, looking off at the fire then. “Meddling things.”

            “I can’t imagine where they get it from,” Bilbo nudged Thorin and let his head fall against the adventurer. “I missed sitting next to you. Just… being able to share space.” Thorin let his hand return to those curls, to move and part them, finally exposing a pink ear- apparently Bilbo’s flush hadn’t dissipated quite yet. He smiled and leaned forward.

            “I missed it too,” and let a soft peck fall to his earlobe, making Bilbo gasp and jump, he looked wide-eyed at Thorin. “You said it was alright.”

            “N! Thorin!” Bilbo whacked his hand though it was playful. “You are the worst.” He hissed though _both_ of them knew it was _only_ a tease. But Thorin drew him back, drew that ear to his lips again.

            “Why don’t you tell me all the ways I am the worst, and I will be sure to remedy those reasons,” he whispered, seductively weaving his way deeper and deeper into Bilbo’s heart. The writer already knew this journey would end with tears if they were to never meet again; he’d have to visit, they would have to see one another more and more. Bilbo didn’t need more reasons to- wait. Wait a _moment!_

            Could it be that Thorin wasn’t using this as a game? For certainly Bilbo kept the game up, only for appearances _and_ to kiss Thorin, though quite guiltily. He had to be. He told his nephews that, and he… he never lied to them. Not over something as serious as a relationship… _Maker._ Bilbo pleaded silently _tell me if I’m falling for him please._ And Thorin smiled, pecked his cheek and drew away. _Tell me this isn’t just a fantasy anymore!_ “Hurry and make those cheeks grow pale again. Maker forbid I have to tell my nephews another lie to keep them off our backs."

_Oh **shit**._ Bilbo stared at Thorin as he stood, stretched and headed for his bed, to take out some clothes and his own little journal. _The Maker **did** hear that!_ He blinked and just _gazed_ as Thorin fumbled for a few things, muttered something about what they needed, when they’d go, all to himself, mind you. Bilbo was sure none of it was meant to be heard but Thorin felt eyes upon him.

            He rose his to find Bilbo’s owling at him. “Did I say something weird?”

            “N…No! Not… not at all,” Bilbo whipped his head around, hands fisted into the bedding with a gasp. Thorin grinned and crept as quietly as he could, came behind Bilbo and pressed his hands to the bed, swooping forward to tug the writer back. Bilbo collapsed onto the bed, staring up at Thorin, swallowing hard and all Thorin could do was smile.

            “I must have, for a blush to glow so bright,” He insisted, and Bilbo’s mouth clicked open and then he shut his eyes tight, shaking his head, an action that reminded Thorin of his nephews as kids. “Oh, tell me, I promise not to laugh.”

            “It’s not really something you said,” Bilbo murmured after a long while. “Before, when we were drunk, you told your nephews this… didn’t mean anything, this… this game.”

            “Tis a game,” he offered and Bilbo seemed to wilt into the bed. “But I did not mean it _quite_ like you are taking it. No, it is a game, but I enjoy every single winning. I enjoy _you_ Master Baggins, and had this game started with another, well, it probably would not have started at all.” Those big hazel eyes popped open in surprise. “Surely you could not think you mean so little to me, that I have no feelings?” Bilbo shivered and Thorin leaned down a bit, his hair falling over shoulders as a curtain from the firelight. “Surely you do not think I feel nothing for you?” Bilbo let out this quiet peep of a noise and Thorin grinned. “It might be a game, but that doesn’t explain why I keep wanting a kiss even _after_ I’ve won.” He bent down and paused- just shy of reaching Bilbo’s lips- “Do not _ever_ think for a moment that I do not understand what you’re asking me.” He whispered and pecked those parted lips just barely, before he drew backwards. “Now, really. I do wish you’d wipe that blush from your face.” Bilbo squeaked and tried to roll to sit up, but he enjoyed looking at Thorin far too much. “I would be quite an improper gentleman should I have to gaze upon the pink of yours cheeks for much longer.” He chuckled- “I would not stop either, should my nephews approach.”

            Bilbo sat straight up, doe eyed and having difficulty breathing. Thorin leaned over the bed again to kiss an ear he saw exposed between blonde curls and loved the yip he received. “Now stop fuming over that chapter. I’ll explain what I meant when I said I didn’t like it.”

            They spent the night working on it, Fili and Kili returning but an hour later with _many_ goodies for their evening. Despite having a living room, they instead lounged in Thorin and Bilbo’s room, at the fire, all piled up in heaps of blankets as they talked and laughed. Thorin had to take each of his nephews to bed, and Bilbo pecked them goodnight as they _insisted_. When adventurer and writer returned, Bilbo found it _more_ uncomfortable that he had to sleep alone in his bed. The tossing and turning did wake Thorin, who groggily asked what was wrong and for Bilbo to _just come here_ to his bed. Hesitantly the writer crept and bounded to Thorin’s bed, a wrong placed elbow had Thorin keeling over with a hiss of pain.

            “Thorin! Oh I’m so sorry I thought you were the bed!”

            “Does the bed have _muscles?”_ he wheezed. “For the love of… Maker, Bilbo…” he chuckled after catching his breath. “I’m old, no more _leaping_ on top of me, I could hardly stand ill-placed body parts when my nephews romped around on me.” Bilbo blushed and readied to sit up and out of Thorin’s bed, but the adventurer tugged him back down. “You went through such an effort to bounce over here, dear writer, stay.” He insisted with a smile and Bilbo raised his hand to Thorin’s chest, where he’d elbowed the man, feeling at a… at his chest, at a defined pectoral. “Do I need to get naked for your hands to explore more firmly?” Bilbo’s eyes owled and he mewled at Thorin for being awful. “You’ve never been with a man who… had my physique before, I remember you saying. Curious?” Bilbo gulped.

            “About your physique, or about being with a man like you?” Bilbo questioned softly, timidly and Thorin just smirked, sitting up and drawing his tunic off, not speaking a word. Bilbo was gifted another sight of the man- and he could stare each and every time like it was the first. Thorin laid back upon an arm, propping his head up and Bilbo gazed in the candlelight. A single hand reached outward and Thorin moved his other arm out of it’s path- fingertips still soft and smooth lit against the top of his pectoral, chills rushed about. Thorin hadn’t answered Bilbo’s question… not verbally anyway.

            But Thorin encouraged Bilbo’s wandering hand to explore. To feel, to graze, to cup, to stroke, to scratch and pinch. Bilbo _had never_ been with a man as defined as Thorin… It was different. The feel of skin, rough from enduring harsh climates for periods at a time, but still smooth, almost soft. Dark semicurls of chest hair would have bothered the writer before, but now, his fingers relished tangling between them, tugging. Thorin was silent for his exploration until his fingers dipped towards his navel, Bilbo saw his stomach clench, a little huff of breath escape.

            No, Thorin hadn’t answered his question verbally. _But maybe he didn’t need too._

            Bilbo had the answer right before him.


	18. Indecent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of frustration always helps clears the mind. Especially when it is shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here were are at chapter 18, woot woot! Bit steamy in the jungle, no? I know you're all excited for this one (when I wrote it I had to pause a bit, "M-Maker what did I write-- heh! HA! LOVE IT" sort of thing) anyway. Enjoy!
> 
> I believe Chp. 20 is where the little Thilbo oneshot will take place :3 If I remember correctly, SO CLOSE!

             **Chapter 18: Indecent**

            Things had been restored. Or at least, the brothers and the writer believed that everything had gone back to normal. However, the adventurer dreaded the days he would wake, feeling a heavy head resting upon his chest, content by his warmth. Because that was _all_ that the writer would _ever_ be; a body looking for solstice, not love, not a relation, just comfort. Friendship.

            Thorin woke with a numbing feeling behind his eyes, looking down to the head of curls that laid happily against his chest, oblivious of the internal war raging beneath his fingertips. Could the writer hear his thudding heartbeat, could he make out the desperate song it was wailing?

            When did _Thorin Durin_ become so _encompassed_ by the writer? He rubbed his face quietly, feeling the writer stretch at his side and then yawn. Big hazel eyes lifted to find Thorin’s and then they dropped, raised again with a cheeky smile coming on. A second glance down had it being wiped away. The writer sat up straight, owling as all the covers were drawn back to reveal Thorin quite as _shirtless_ as it had seemed.

            “Put some clothes on!” Bilbo turned, he was all shades of red and Thorin huffed at him for it.

            “I didn’t hear a complaint last night,” the adventurer chuckled which only seemed to rile Bilbo up further, who tensed a bit, eyes darting back over. “You didn’t drool, did you?” Thorin scratched at his chest, smirking as hazel eyes watched his own fingers tangle against chest hair. So he swept his fingers down as if to comb them straight again, relishing that Bilbo’s eyes followed until they paused at his stomach. Bilbo tensed all over again and looked away with a peep. “My, but you are a finicky thing.” Thorin sat up then too, drawing his arms up over his head, tugging them to stretch with a grunt.

            Thorin found those eyes glued to him again. And Thorin could only glance back and eye the shirt Bilbo still wore with disdain. “So what must I do to get this to come off?” He tugged at the collar, Bilbo knocking his hand aside, wiggling on the bed. “Not as if I haven’t _seen_ it before, nor…” he leaned closer- “ _touched_ it before.” His hand ghosted up the writer’s back, a tremble finally washed down said back when his hand landed gingerly at his shoulder. Thorin patted him before he kicked the blankets from his legs and stood, combing fingers into his hair to push it back. “Come along, we’ve got some chores to do before we leave tomorrow morning.” Bilbo nodded and they dressed, slipping on shoes to step out of their room. Fili and Kili were still sleeping, it seemed, so Bilbo went to wake them, cheeks enflamed.

            When had Thorin become so _smitten_ with the writer? Thorin stroked his beard in thought, awaiting the writer to wake his nephews. Thorin hadn’t even realized his chest would pang with guilt for stealing such kisses and affection from him until it was too late.

            And by then he was already stealing a fifth or sixth kiss. _Maker._ Thorin rested his hands upon the table, bowing his head, taking a steady a few breaths to clear his mind. _I want him. He thinks this is just a game, a ploy._ A hand on his back made his head turn, Bilbo had been beaming at Thorin, but now, his face was scrunched in concern.

            “You know I don’t mind,” he murmured softly, moving his hand to squeeze the adventurer’s arm. “You’re uh- teasing. You do it so well, I can’t _help_ but be on their receiving end.” He blushed and giggled, turning his face away from Thorin then. “You’re so good at it, I’m quite jealous actually.” Bright hazel eyes returned- “Like, really, seriously jealous Thorin.”

            “Oh, I’ll stop then,” the tease was out before he could stop it, the playfulness they shared _right_ back at the forefront of his mind.

            “Please, don’t,” that hand squeezed again and Thorin glanced to it- so did Bilbo. “It’s fun. A… and I haven’t had this much fun before. W… with someone before.” Thorin gave a rock before straightening, eyeing the writer with a kind gaze, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “Besides, I hope to learn something from it, and use it on you.”

            “That would be interesting,” Thorin smirked- “Who’s to say you have not left me hanging before?” Bilbo swallowed at the thought, and Thorin ruffled his hair before the writer _groaned_ at him.

            “Maker, you do _know_ how long it takes to make my hair look… unruffled by sleep, right?” Bilbo had tutted and Thorin shrugged a bit, reaching to untuck a stray curl with a smirk.

            “Well then I cannot _wait_ to see what you try to do when we hit the rainforest,” Bilbo turned as Thorin rolled his eyes. “My hair…” he tugged a strand from his ponytail. “It’s wavy, naturally. I have our mother’s hair, which was a head of long and tight curls. My fathers is straight. Mine is wavy.” Bilbo nodded, though clearly not following. “When we hit the moist air of the rainforest, curls, just… damned curls.” He waved and that was of course, when his nephews stepped out.

            “Mister Bilbo, you will not be able to hold in your laughter with Uncle’s preening!” Kili jumped right in, his Uncle throwing his arms up in exasperation.

            “Just a head of curls, he can hardly keep it all in a ponytail!” Fili added, but even though each nephew hung off Bilbo’s arms, his eyes were turned towards Thorin, who met the gaze.

            “Come along you three,” he waved to them. “We’ve got a lot to do, and not that much time.” The day went as expected, bartering for water-resistant goods and materials, exchanging their winter provisions for things better suited for hotter weather. They enjoyed the warmer climate, or at least Bilbo seemed to flourish under it, quite enthusiastic to sit with Thorin and watch him make deals and exchanges, to reach out to traders about paths and dangers in the rainforest. Thorin had entered a weapon’s shop and the adventurer offered a machete to the writer, who chuckled, yeah he could use this! Thorin laughed and he turned to pay for it. Bilbo gaped, asking what on _earth_ was he doing! “You need _something_ out there.” He paused their transaction. “That is a balanced weapon, or tool.” Bilbo’s eyes shimmered a bit, something akin to fear, but not quite so strong. He stared down at the blade. “It’ll serve you well, Master Baggins.” Bilbo glanced around, but let his eyes wander back to the blade asThorin finished paying. It was a bit smaller than some of the others he had seen, and Thorin turned and handed him the sheath with a belt. “We uh, might need to hack our way through the forest.”

            “Are you kidding?” Bilbo squeaked and Thorin raised his eyes and smiled.

            “No, I’ve had mine sharpened before I left to see you,” he shrugged his shoulders, laid a hand upon Bilbo’s arm. “It’ll be an experience.”

            “Y…yeah,” Bilbo looked to the weapon, and heaved a breath.

            “Put it in our story,” he tipped that head up. “And it’s not a weapon. Not until it draws blood. Not until it ceases a life. People are the weapons and we use tools to achieve that.” Bilbo blinked listening intently. “It’s not about when to take life but when to spare one, that is something many people overlook. That, is a wrong of this world.”

            “Wiser words could not have been said,” Bilbo murmured and Thorin chuckled. “You’ll show me? How to… use it?”

            “No I just bought it for laughs,” Bilbo frowned at him, shaking his head but turning about to leave with Thorin. “Of course I will teach you. You’re in capable hands.” They returned to their inn late that night, ate well at the inn and then retired to their rooms. Fili and Kili were impressed with Bilbo’s blade, drawing theirs out for comparison. The three of them talked well into the night about how to use the blade properly, and even worked in a few strokes. When Thorin ushered his nephews to bed, Bilbo had turned to Thorin for comfort, and to ease his remaining worries about the blade. Thorin took a hold of his hand, grasping the blade firmly, standing behind. He led Bilbo’s arms in a downward stroke, then another, before Bilbo began to feel comfortable with the movement.

            The adventurer taught what he could to Bilbo- without real demonstration or practice, this was all for not, at least until he could put this to use. The writer finally turned to look up at Thorin, thanking him for the session and Thorin chuckled. He pecked the writer’s forehead and moved to his bed, telling the writer he had no reason to thank him. It seemed Bilbo was _intent_ in making Thorin’s life a living hell, though because when Thorin sat to his bed, Bilbo came and stood before him.

            Waiting for something. The machete long put away upon the small dresser, Bilbo stood before Thorin and their eyes met. Bilbo said he’d been wooed. Thorin blinked and he opened his mouth to question when but the writer pressed on- Thorin was talented, was knowledgeable and Bilbo hadn’t _really_ been swayed by that, or at least hadn’t admitted it as a means of being wooed by the adventurer. So Thorin was a bit stunned by the words, and _Maker_ he wished he had closed his legs—having the writer standing between them seemingly unknowing of his position in relation to the adventurer— was terrible for his own resistance. He felt a twitch in his groin, felt a heat flush him entirely and his hands fisted at his thighs to resist gripping that waist and yanking him—“Truly.” Not a question, but the way that Bilbo seemed to squirm had Thorin more than convinced the writer was serious. “Shouldn’t I be rewarded, for doing something I had no intentions of?” Bilbo blinked.

            “Oh… Oh I suppose,” Bilbo shuffled his feet a bit but he did not move. “W… what would you want?” Maker, what _didn’t_ he want, should have been the better question, far less things to say to that!

            “Perhaps you’d be willing to take this off?” he tugged the tunic Bilbo had on, watching his throat constrict with a swallow. “I’m more than willing to shed mine if it makes you more comfortable.” Those round cheeks a deep red now, only more passionate against the flames of the fire.

            “That’s all?”

            “As I said, I hadn’t _planned_ on romancing you with my intelligence,” Thorin chided again with a smirk, this time though. “I’m a bit taken aback with your swooning over my knowledge.”

            “You know so much, should I not be impressed?” Thorin cocked his head to the side a bit, to encourage the writer to continue. “There are things I’d have never known hadn’t I met you. I’ve grown into a better person with our knowledge being exchanged, though I hardly think you’ve learned a lot from _me._ That isn’t the point-“ Bilbo waved his hand for Thorin to cease his retort. “I’m impressed, and it’s awing, how much you know, without asking, just by experience… I’ll know how to survive in the wilds if I ever get lost again.” He chuckled and Thorin returned a smile instead and waited. Bilbo seemed unsure of what was supposed to happen and when he moved to shrug out of his tunic, Thorin stopped it.

            “Keep it on,” Bilbo blinked, big eyed.

            “B-But I—“

            “If you say I’ve wooed you, then I’ll return and say I’m wooed,” Thorin said simply, sincerity lining his voice. “No one has ever thought what I know of the world as anything more than a hobbyists passion. Hearing that it awes you, well,…” Thorin scratched at his beard, a bit slack-jawed. “I’m stunned. And you’re nervous.” Bilbo pouted then, but stepped back and drew his shirt over his head anyway, though his eyes were shut and Thorin laughed. “So you have a defiant streak too.” Bilbo opened his eyes, a small shy smiling crossing over his features. “I’ll admit, even if it’s hot in the rainforest, I might cling to you.” His hand reached an exposed waist, stroking softly, watching chills dot his skin and Bilbo swatted his hand.

            “The first thing you grip is the _love handle_ really?” Bilbo shook his head and wandered away, moving to a pair of light pajama bottoms and changing into them. He turned about, hands upon those… _love handles_ of his with a huff. “Well, go on, shirt off. You said you were wooed, that’s my request.”

            “We _both_ know you are easy to embarrass,” But Thorin drew the shirt off without wait. Bilbo’s breath hitched and when they climbed into Thorin’s bed, it took Bilbo a long while to feel comfortable. His back towards the adventurer’s chest had him believing it would not be as _bad_ as facing it.

            It was the same sort of sweet torture.

            Thorin would agree.

            They left early that morning for the edges of the rainforest, meeting with Gandalf’s associate to send off what they had of chapter 7 and 8. They tossed 9 in there, for the hell of it with a note for Gandalf to proof it if he could, as they would not have access to a contact for a while. The trek through greenery came as great relief to the writer having stared at the brown and white of the northern territories for what seemed like _such_ a long time. Thorin enjoyed pointing out whatever his eyes spots, birds, trees or flowers, rabbits and other wild critters that would dart before them.

            They were walking through tall grassy plains, trees and rolling hills of tropical forests were before them, calling softly to come within the vines and jungle. “Most big predators will avoid us, if not all. A few might have a go, but, tis nothing to worry for.” Bilbo turned, curious as to what big predators Thorin was referencing. “We should be more wary of the herbivores- highly territorial.”

            “What do you think we’ll see?”

            “Elephants, tigers, monkeys, lemurs, some eagles and lot’s of birds,” He reached and tapped Bilbo’s camera- “You can practice.” Kili pointed out a tree nearby and drew something from it’s branches- a gecko. Bilbo was so stunned, he could hardly raise his camera, but asked to hold the lizard too. Thorin snapped a few of each his nephews holding the gecko, then of Bilbo as well- until the little lizard decided it had enough fun with them, leaping onto Thorin’s camera lens. Bilbo snapped a photo with his own camera before they returned the gecko. “Oh and lizards. Frogs too. Hoping to see some poison darts.”

            “Poisonous…?”

            “Oh yes,” Thorin blinked. “If you eat them.” Bilbo _sighed_ and Thorin chuckled.

            “Did you tell him Uncle?” Kili asked then.

            “Tell me what?”

            “About snakes as long as a house!” Bilbo’s eyes bulged and Thorin reached to squeeze Bilbo’s shoulder softly.

            “Constrictors, they won’t be a bother to us, far too large,” Bilbo just stared and Thorin grinned- “Though you get any thinner, they might think you’re tasty.” Bilbo slapped Thorin for that, though in good fun. When they reached high ground, Thorin surveyed the area first and deemed it safe to set up camp. Yet, even after both tents were set up, and there was food roasting upon the flames, Thorin seemed concerned. His gaze was upon the sky.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Checking the weather, in a week it might rain, the air is cooling down to a proper temperature for rain,” Thorin gave a big inhale, but he turned to Bilbo. “Can’t wait to see Master Baggins soaked to the bone again.” Another slap had them both laughing, but that thought had sent Thorin’s _body_ spiraling out of control.

            He didn’t remember much of when they had first met, a quick dose of summer rain had been unexpected outside of Shire- but he knew what the writer looked like. Knew what wet clothes looked like. And his imagination was far too good, it seemed. He was hard before dinner could be _finished._ All were unaware of the little fact, so Thorin made notice to excuse himself. He told them to and call when dinner was ready. No one questioned, no one giggled as he headed to Thorin and Bilbo’s shared tent- his nephews said they’d call when it was done.

            Hot. Flushed. He felt like a teen again as he collapsed back to their makeshift beds, grinding against his palm. Maker he didn’t even need to close his eyes to see Bilbo, to picture the writer, imagine him naked against him. He undid his slacks with shaky hands, breath short and his body over-sensitive to touch. He drew his engorged cock from its clothed confines, hissing when the cooler air hit it. Wet, dripping, he grit his teeth at its reddened and needy nature, rolling his head against the pillow with a quieted groan. He didn’t need help, getting off, he was sure his imagination _alone_ could propel him to release, but he didn’t have that sort of time.

            His hand gripped his dick tightly, hissing at the pleasure that burned, and began to stroke, quick successions, rubbing precum down to ease his movements. Had Thorin known he looked so wanton, stretched upon their beds, legs bent and spread, his hand pumping with fury, the adventurer would have stopped and let himself suffer.

            But Bilbo was a better tease than he realized- even in his mind, in his fantasies. His body quivered when his thumb lit over the head of his prick, a soft groan escaping, his mouth parting to take in air more efficiently, as if it _seriously_ helped. He raised his hips the slightest before lowering them, writhing in his own given pleasure, a smile would do, a giggle would have done well, to hear Bilbo tease him in this state, he didn’t need _much_. And that frightened Thorin.

            About as much as when Bilbo had become hypothermic.

            Because all of this was just a silly game; their affections, their teases. A fling, at their _age._ Thorin scoffed at the idea, but knew it’d never blossom into anything. He had frightened the writer once coming on too strong- but he still enjoyed this guilty fling. _Relished_ a moment to think of the writer with less than _appropriate_ thoughts- scandalous, Bilbo would say, Thorin thought. _Honestly, what do you think I feel?_

            Thorin gave a shake of his head, buried his face against a pillow- it just happened to be Bilbo’s and he heaved in it’s earthy smell. He was so close, could feel the fires of release coiling, the tension coming to head and the—

            “Thorin, dinners read—oh, oh _M-Maker,”_ Thorin froze at the _real-life_ Bilbo at the edge of the tent peaking in. “Oh m-my, Th-Thorin I’m so… oh I’m so sorry!!” He waved and Thorin groaned and chuckled, though it was dark and bitter and even a bit choked.

            “No, I uh, should have waited I suppose,” and closed his legs and shoved himself back into the itchy and painful hold of his pants. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

            “M-Maker, Thorin _finish_ ,” Bilbo whispered, hissing at him almost and then… a bit more timidly. “You looked er… c… clo… _there_. Or near it.” Thorin waved and then he heard his nephews voices asking why Bilbo had exclaimed, why Uncle wasn’t coming out. Bilbo tried to spring them away, but eventually they figured out what was going on-

            “Was Uncle in a compromising position?” Fili asked.

            “Aww, you should help him relieve it Mister Bilbo!” Kili insisted, and Thorin didn’t _need_ to see them, nudging one another, giggling. He could picture the blush that lit upon Bilbo’s cheeks and Thorin would have tried to finish- but he’d been caught. Caught lusting.

            And regardless of _who_ the writer thought he was dreaming of, it didn’t matter. He did his _very best_ to calm himself down, pressing a chilled canister against his groin as if it would truly help- it did _deter_ further building of arousal. He stepped out almost painfully, walking carefully towards the fire—“Uncle are you alright?”

            “I’m fine, tired,” he waved to Kili, hoping to end the conversation-

            “You didn’t finish,” Thorin stilled and realized he must have looked quite awkward, his cheeks dark, a clear _waddle_ to his step, not to mention a bit of peering one could see the bulge of—

            “Not with listening ears—“

            “I startled him,” Bilbo cut in then, eyes at the flames before, raising to Fili and Kili. “And he did. I think he got a cramp in his leg.” Those hazel eyes turned to Thorin, twinkling deviously. “That happens when you get old. No comforts of home, bad cramps when you’ve, you know.” Bilbo waved. “I can’t wait to see you two as old men, complaining about those things.” Fili and Kili exchanged looks, disbelieving one could cramp up in the legs, but then Fili said one time he did-

            The conversation took a different path. Thorin turned to Bilbo when Fili and Kili left to clean the dishes.

            “Thanks,” Thorin groaned, his arousal long dispersed by ill-thoughts and uninteresting conversation. “For… deterring the prying ears.”

            “Thorin I’ve been spied on before, I know how awkward it is,” he giggled. “Though it was hardly ill-wanted.” Thorin smirked and Bilbo turned to add a few logs to the fire- Thorin let himself a guilty look at Bilbo, starting at his legs and slowly slinking his eyes along thick thighs, a pert arse, and- he didn’t get much farther.

            He drew his eyes away in shame.

            When they found themselves in their tents, Thorin immediately rolled to his side, half burying his face into the pillow, in hopes of passing out. The day had been embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to spring a boner in the middle of the night with Bilbo beside him- no matter the warmth of the rainforest and jungle, he didn’t fancy letting one out in darkness. Bilbo took a while to readjust, often tossing and accidentally bumping into Thorin with a swift stuttering apology. The adventurer wanted to question the writer, why was he fussing? Nervous? Was he delirious, no none of those worked.

            It was an hour, and Bilbo was still, _rolling_ so Thorin whipped around, grabbing his arm and holding Bilbo still.

            “Maker, Bilbo, what is it?” He snarled quietly, annoyed, but trying his best to not voice it. He was sure he had failed.

            There was a peep, and Thorin could see well enough from the light of the moon and the dying fire that…

            Bilbo had his eyes shut tight.

            “N… I’m sorry Thorin,” he murmured, his voice sounded thick, and Thorin looked over the writer for a quick moment, maybe he had cut himself, caught fever? He reached for his face and he was slapped away, Bilbo drew back with big eyes. Thorin raised his hands in his defense.

            “Are you alright?” A _long_ pause.

            “N… no,” Bilbo squirmed.

            “Are you hurt?” Maker, did he really have to go through this?

            “N, no,” Bilbo murmured and then a hitch. “It _does_ hurt. But I’m not wounde—I’m sorry I couldn’t help—“

            “Bilbo, for the love of _god,_ what is the _matter?”_ He growled out and a choke, a quieted sob had Thorin reassessing the whole situation. He took stock of the writer again, shaky, but not out of fever, warm, but only in the cheeks and not sweating. Hands… hands were balled with blankets over his- oh. “You’re hard.” He said more to himself than the embarrassed writer below. “Why don’t you just hurry it up?” Thorin flopped back down. “I want to sleep _sometime_ tonight, Bilbo, and I won’t mind if you let one out.”

            “I can’t,” Bilbo squeaked out and Thorin stilled. _Don’t ask me._

            “Why?”

            “I can’t be quiet,” Thorin blinked.

            “Can’t be quiet? What do you mean, just use your hand—“

            “I’m _loud_ Thorin,” Bilbo slapped Thorin’s arm again with a desperate sort of whimper- this clearly was weighing upon the writer. “That’s why I’ve _never_ done it when you three were _ever_ around. Why I went so far. I couldn’t keep my voice down, there, happy?”

            And for a while, Thorin let the words hang before letting a breath out- this conversation was making his earlier erection spring to life. He sighed softly and turned.

            “It’s not that hard,” he murmured and then groaned at the bad choice of words. “Just bite your lips or—“

            “Trust me Thorin, if I could just wank off as silently as you, I’d _show it off!”_ The writer insisted and there was a tremble in his voice.

            “Muffle your voice into the pillow, and go slowly, I’m sure it’ll… not take long,” He glanced to the direction of his nephews tent. “They’re out for the night.” And he could feel Bilbo nod, feel him start to move- slowly. A squeak, another, a third, but at least he’d finish. Thorin curled himself away, carefully covering his ears to hide that voice from him- he didn’t need to be further pressed. His cock was burning against his slack- _No, no just… sleep. Sleep._

            It seemed Thorin would not find sleep for no sooner had Thorin _just_ begun to drift to sleep, uncomfortable, Bilbo began shifting again, rolling. “Maker, save me, Bilbo Baggins!” Thorin tossed himself to his back and Bilbo stopped moving, though he continued to tremble. “Not only am I awake, I’m hard… _damn it all.”_

            “Y… you’re… hard?”

            “Yes, it never left, not really,” Thorin groaned as his hand pressed against his thigh close to his groin. “What will help you, beyond screaming about how good your hand is?” Bilbo peeped and then, shrugged.

            “I… I don’t know,” Thorin’s eyes met Bilbo’s and for a long while they just stared at one another before Thorin kicked his blanket away, undoing his slacks. He felt eyes upon him, felt them wander down his stomach to his crotch, felt them _linger._ He hiked his shirt a bit and… very tentatively drew his hardened cock from his pants, Bilbo gasped.

            “You made me like this,” Thorin insisted, but he would not explain, knowing Bilbo was questioning him silently. “Maybe watching will get you off quicker—“

            “I can’t! I can’t _watch you—“_

            “Dammit, Bilbo, those balls of yours will be blue in a minute, if you continue whimpering about it rather than doing something!” Bilbo gasped at Thorin’s words and a hand shucked downwards, grabbed his own cock and sighed quietly. Bilbo blinked and Thorin let his eyes flicker to Bilbo’s- “It’s… about breathing. At least, that’s what I’ve taught myself, stuck in… tight situations like this, with unwanted ears around.” A thumb flicked over the head and he gasped again, though mostly silent still and the writer, fumbled a bit, readjusted so he was upon his back.

            And very slowly those blankets were tugged away, and hands played with his pants, diving under them- but those hazel eyes were upon _Thorin_ the entire time. The adventurer felt that wave of heat and arousal swirl, he let his eyes close arching slightly into his own hand, biting his tongue to ease the noise that wanted to escape. That’s when he heard it, buttons coming undone and his eyes opened, watching Bilbo through heavy lids.

            The writer undid his pants and drew his cock out too- Thorin would have cursed the darkness, but he could make out the head, the shaft, it had been red, and it glistened with what dim light was present. Those delicate fingers lit upon his cock and Thorin took in a breath, mimicking what the writer did- suddenly he found it hard _himself_ not to make a noise. This was the closest he’d ever gotten to Bilbo before, intimately at least, and knew it would never go farther. Curious and hesitant eyes lifted and Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes confidently. “Trust me, this is about as embarrassing for me as it is you. I would not _dare_ tell a soul.” Bilbo relaxed. “Besides remind you, of course.” Thorin smirked as he gave another stroke, a bit faster this time, taking in a large breath.

            “How _do_ you keep quiet?” Though as Bilbo voiced the question, his eyes trailed down, watching Thorin’s hand pump his cock- and _my_ did it look large. He had thought either Thorin’s hand or prick would be dwarfed by the other, but, they fit, both large- Bilbo felt his breath hitch.

            “Large breaths, and I hold them sometimes,” he let out a breath shakily. “Bite hard enough to cease the noise.” Bilbo’s hand began to stroke in tangent with Thorin’s. Even teeth bit into his bottom lip as he watched that had speed, so his did.

            He’d done this as a youth- with a friend he had an interest in- Bilbo had been smitten. They hadn’t quite figured out their feelings, but Bilbo remembered the experience fondly. This seemed to replace that memory. It was quickly becoming the _most memorable_ one certainly. Having Thorin watch him, having that strong blue gray gaze upon him as he stroked himself, as _Bilbo_ stared at Thorin, Maker… the writer wanted to curl away and _die_ from _humiliation_ and embarrassment.

            Another part blossomed. Thorin was watching, was _hard_ because of him too. And if Thorin could have read Bilbo’s mind, he’d have been pleasantly surprised. Having those hazel eyes upon his cock had Thorin all sorts of mad- mad with need and passion and an unfiltered _fury_ had bubbled- a madness he’d never be able to cure. His breathing began to come short, uneven, and Bilbo was beginning to mewl softly, his eyes never having left Thorin’s cock.

            So Thorin teased the head again with his thumb, with a gasp, a shiver, a grit of his teeth. He was privileged to see Bilbo shiver, to actually see the writer still at such a sight and grip his own dick tightly. Had that pleased the writer? He repeated the motion, swirling precum about the head and Bilbo shut his eyes tightly, his legs clenching, tangling amongst themselves. Just the sight of Bilbo writhing was enough for Thorin and he quickened his pace, his eyes not leaving Bilbo’s frame.

            He watched that chest heave with breath, watched his hips raise slightly every so often, his eyes flickered up to a mouth that was parted, gasping for air, and those shimmering and _lusty_ hazel eyes watching Thorin… watching his pumping fist, his own trembling limbs- _“Fuck.”_ Thorin cursed and shut his eyes, but opened them immediately- he wanted to watch Bilbo come undone.

            Bilbo dug himself against their bed, squirming, gasping for air, his hand pumping fast and unevenly, the other fisting in whatever cloth it could find. Bilbo tensed then, he tried to bury his head away, but his eyes lifted and found Thorin’s, cheeks red, sweat beading upon his brow, lips swollen from being bit- “F-Fuck Bilbo.” Thorin turned away and came- he heard Bilbo _moan_ against the pillow and Thorin let his own voice release finally, a groan, low and rumbling. His eyes opened briefly to see Bilbo cumming too, milking himself to his stomach as he had done.

            M… _Maker._

            Those hazel eyes flickered up, trembling and worried and Thorin just hummed, smiled to him and Bilbo hid his face again.

            “D-Don’t _look_ at me,” he huffed, but there was no threat or bite to his words, and Thorin let his legs unfurl and moan softly in the pleasure that came in softly, the afterglow buzzing his senses and numbing down anything else.

            “Why, I stared the whole tim—“

            “Th-That was different,” But Bilbo raised his eyes again, still to find Thorin smiling. “You’re not… embarrassed?”

            “I’m mortified,” Thorin chuckled, but met those eyes again. “But I had someone to share it with.” He took in a deep breath and let it out- “Someone who I can trust.” Thorin let his eyes close and rolled his head back. Bilbo stared in _awe_ at Thorin for a moment, lost. “Bit of a prude, but, a very good friend. I’m sure we’ll laugh about how silly we feel when this becomes a routine.”

            “Oh Maker, no!” Bilbo shoved Thorin’s arm, though they both laughed and Thorin reached for a rag, dabbled some water from his canister onto it and cleaned himself up. He passed the towel to Bilbo who smiled timidly- “Thanks.” And cleaned himself up.

            “Can you sleep now?”

            “Like a baby,” Bilbo assured, both of them readjusting themselves and tucking away their now _relieved_ dicks- “Thanks to you.”

            “What did I do?”

            “You looked at me,” Bilbo giggled and slowly, hesitantly came and nudged his head against Thorin’s shoulder and arm. He wanted to hide, Thorin could tell, and he wanted to hide with the man who he’d just _shared_ such an embarrassing act with.

            Trust had never been so _rewarding._ Thorin rolled to face him and let the writer snuggle in close, he was warm, warmer than usual, but the adventurer did mind at all. He rested his chin against soft tousled blonde curls. This would never happen again, and though his heart wrenched for it-

            His body had been sated for a night, and for him right then…

            Thorin could pretend it had been so much more _than just a night._


	19. Rain, Rain, Come Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's lost his balance, all over a smile, a kiss, a laugh, a tease. Such simple delicacies have him at the mercy of natures wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, bear with me lovelies, it's another longish chapter. I wanted to cut it shorter BUT things happened and now it's long. 
> 
> A bit of warning, there is violence here, a bit. Some blood, some pain- nothing to gruesome, not into writing the meaty chunks or anything. But that's all the warning you'll get!

             **Chapter 19: Rain, Rain, Come Again**

            Thorin encouraged everyone to drink plenty of water. They ate foods that didn’t absorb too much energy and traveled at an easy pace, to prevent too much water being depleted. Thorin remembered much of the area, or seemed to, in Bilbo’s opinion. He would often pause and look around for several moments, before changing direction.

            Bilbo started to assumeThorin was getting himself lost, but then they came to a large winding river and Thorin scouted for a long while before he said this would be a fine place to set camp. “What are you worried for?”

            “Crocodiles,” Bilbo blinked at the words. “They’re mostly easy to avoid, if you know where to look. I don’t think we’re in any danger.”

            “And a-anything else that might come from the water?” Thorin chuckled and shook his head.

            “The only thing that will come from the water for _you_ will be my nephews,” he smiled and played with the small tuft hair Bilbo had managed to string back into a ponytail. Though it could hardly be considered such, the tuft was hardly longer than an inch or two. Bilbo was surprised how _much_ it would help keep cool during their long treks through the warm sun.

            And as predicted Thorin kept his hair in a bun at the back, strands from his forehead and hairline springing out in tight curls that would otherwise have laid back with his hair. Thorin tried for just that morning to keep them away before relenting and letting them fall. Bilbo would help, and stood then to tuck the strands away before Thorin could move with a smile upon his lips. One sprung back out and Bilbo huffed, tried to push it back, but it kept sticking out. “And you wondered why I stopped?” He teased and Thorin caught Bilbo’s hand, pressed a kiss to its palm, watching his cheeks flush red. “Thanks for trying.”

            They roused a fire and had fresh fruit Thorin had deemed safe earlier that day. It was relaxing and calming. A roll of thunder however made Thorin lift his head and glance about.

            “Is it going to rain?” Thorin felt at the air it seemed, and he glanced about with a frown.

            “Not quite, at least, not here,” but they went and set up their tarps just in case when Thorin saw something scurry in the trees. His eyes narrowed for a moment, he moved and plucked a few of the fruits and stuffed them into a breast pocket. He searched for the writer, and when found, tugged Bilbo away into the forest, beneath low curling branches. It was peculiar, Bilbo thought, being dragged from camp and no action made beyond Thorin holding his wrist and looking up into the deep green canopy. Thorin then moved and drew a few of the fruits out, shed them of their skins and stuck them to the branches and returned beside Bilbo. The writer grew impatient, sighing.

            “If it’s going to rain, shouldn’t we be where it’s dry—“

            “Hush for a moment,” and slowly, soundlessly, little hands moved came into view and pried the fruit off those low branches. Bilbo gasped, clung to Thorin as their eyes adjusted for darkness, the light of the moon oddly enough.

            “What is it!?”

            “Night time lemurs, or opossums, I can’t tell,” but one came down, small, big eyed, it took a piece of fruit and nibbled it right there. Bilbo tried his best to suppress his squeak and the little thing looked up, then leapt.

            Onto Thorin who still held some fruit. The rodent scurried to rummage through pockets before finding what he wanted, and clung to his shirt to eat.

            “T-Thorin…” Bilbo whispered and his hands quivered as it reached to touch the soft fur. The little rodent looked at him, then continued munching away. Thorin plucked a few fruits from his hands and passed them to Bilbo, made him raise his hands to the branches. Bilbo was gifted a little opossum sitting in his hands then, as a perch, to eat the fruit- then another tried to push it away and they both laughed, startling the little rodents that eventually finished their fruits and left for the trees again. “Maker that… we didn’t get close to any animals in the wilds in the north like this.”

            “They have no fear of man here,” Bilbo glanced upwards to Thorin as those soft gray blue eyes lowered to meet his. “They follow their noses.” He smiled and Bilbo did something he’d _never_ done before- at least _with_ Thorin.

            He leapt into his arms. He wrapped his own around Thorin’s neck and kissed the adventurer, humming with delight at what he’d just seen, what he’d been able to do, experience. Thorin sighed in return, wrapping his arms around Bilbo’s waist and back. “That was…” Thorin smiled, licking his lips eyeing the writer who had to be blushing brightly. “…unexpected.”

            “That was amazing! And…” Bilbo lowered his head a bit, eyes averted though Thorin could still see his smile, wide, gleaming in the moonlight. “Maker Thorin, I couldn’t resist those little hands picking food from me _and_ having you be the one to show me this! I was wooed.”

            “I thought _I was_ supposed to kiss you,” he teased and Bilbo gave him a light glare, smirking.

            “Thought you might like the change,” Thorin bent down and stole another kiss from the writer who tightened his hold about his neck, he leaned into the kiss, _reacted_ quite passionately to it.

            “I do indeed,” Thorin breathed but drew himself from the writer’s arms, keeping their fingers entwined as he led him back to the camp. They fell asleep to the sound of monkeys cooing into the night, to birds singing, and to the gentle rustling of tree branches scraping together.

            When they finally came within the forest, the terrain began to change. Some parts were rocky and slick with mud, others were flat. A few times they were hacking through low shrubbery and branches to make their own path. They stopped many times throughout their treks to refresh and eat, to keep themselves full and hydrated. Bilbo asked Thorin why they stopped so many times and he said to make sure _no one_ got into a bad position this time. Bilbo wiggled a bit and Thorin cupped his round and flushed cheek- “Not you and not me- this trip will be the better half.” Bilbo gave a huff and stuck his lips out for a kiss and Thorin obliged, a small one, his nephews catcalling them as they caught the tender moment.

            Thorin whipped around quickly ushering them forward with snarls and chastises, but Bilbo squirmed happily for it. Thorin was quite affectionate when he was goaded, when he was asked. Bilbo didn’t even need to prompt Thorin really, but there were times when the adventurer would look upon Bilbo with a hurt expression. There’d be downturned lips and narrowed eyes as if he debated what he was doing.

            Sometimes the kisses were chaste and quick, and Thorin wouldn’t stand around longer than necessary. Bilbo couldn’t point out what was wrong, or if there truly was anything wrong in the first place. There was a lingering coldness he’d feel when he’d see Thorin like that, avoidant of his eyes and stiff.

            He just could not find a reason for it.

            If it even _had_ a reason. Thorin didn’t change otherwise. He was still calm, and strict with his nephews. He let the writer cuddle at night or they’d share silly stories into the night if neither could sleep. Thorin said that if they could get close to this area where tortoises bred their young, they could make camp right in the thick of their migration. The thought of that spurned the four men onwards, eager.

            The rain had come too, in sprinkles that felt good against the skin. Thorin ordered Fili and Kili to pop open any empty canisters to catch the rainwater, as it would be better than what collected in the earth. Misting like this, amphibians began to encroach from the trees, over the mud and twigs they crushed and crawled closer. Thorin snapped quite a few, and showed Bilbo how to get macro shots of them.

            Bilbo would never have said a thing was wrong between them. That was... until the fourth day of this misty, sprinkling weather. A family of lemurs had been trailing them, and of course, Thorin had showed the little family of lemurs to his own. The writer watched as the lemur family called to them, as Thorin tossed a few fruits far behind them to encourage them to follow. Eventually the lemurs crept from their safety of the trees to the forest floor.

            “Thorin it has a baby lemur!” Bilbo pointed, two had little lemur babes upon their backs with long, inexperienced tails flailing about happily at the food their mothers brought up and raised to them. Thorin smiled and leaned over to Bilbo and pressed a soft kiss to his ear.

            “Don’t ask me to carry you on my back,” the writer turned, looking scandalized, but he giggled and asked for a kiss. Thorin’s kisses hadn’t gotten boring, as Bilbo had thought they might. It was a game, a repetitive game too, but when he’d feel wooed, he’d tell Thorin, they would kiss and they’d move on.

            Not a single kiss was the same, they all felt different, elicited different feelings and sensations- the one thing constant between them was that it was always the adventurer and writer _doing_ the act. Thorin let his tongue swipe across parted lips and Bilbo drew it in with a gasp. The kiss short, but it had worked it’s magic, both their cheeks flushed as the lemurs cheeping of their retrieval and returned to the canopy.

            Thorin, did not mind the small kisses. Bilbo was easy to woo. He was easy prey, he thought. It was the repetition that began to wane upon him though. Two days after lemur family had been trailing them, still caught in the mist of the rainforest, Thorin could make calls for the lemurs to echo and respond. When he’d done this, they had come down, looking for food, had come quite close to Fili and Kili who held it out for them too. Bilbo had asked for a kiss, and he offered one freely. When this happened _again_ two days later (and several times in that span) Bilbo had asked for another. “Truly?” Thorin turned, this time, regarding the writer. “You’re wooed?”

            “I said I was, I promised I wouldn’t cheat,” but Bilbo saw that… strangeness blossom. He saw that look of hesitancy and hurt.

            “I have a hard time believing that,” Thorin offered instead.

            “Why?”

            “This isn’t a new experience,” Thorin waved about them, to the lemurs. “I understand the first and second time them coming down to us, responding to my calls, but it’s been a few days of this. Truly, you feel that weak in the knees, _still?”_ Bilbo seemed to frown at Thorin, seemed to… prickle.

            “I said I wouldn’t cheat, I am _wooed,_ can’t I be continuously wooed?”

            “Of course you can, but,” Thorin heaved a breath- he didn’t want an argument, nor anything really. “I just expected to be wooing you more properly. Roses blowing in the wind, sort of wooing, not… the same thing over and over.”

            “O-Oh,” Bilbo deflated and Thorin leaned down and pecked his forehead. “I just thought you wanted a kiss for every time…”

            “No, silly writer,” a hand curled behind his ear- “I want to really try my out my talents of romancing you. It’s just a kiss if you’re not truly weak in the knees.” Thorin had smiled and turned away to move onwards. Bilbo waited for a moment- _just a kiss._ Nothing more. It _was_ a game, after all.

            Something dark flickered in Bilbo’s chest, something that felt cold and clenched about him tight.

            It was an _ache_.

            On the sixth day rain finally came down like a great deluge, covering the forest in a sleet of rippling views. Thorin kept everyone close together as he navigated them along a large slope with rocks and mud. “Keep watch, these trails are slippery and dangerous.” He glanced back to Bilbo as he let Fili and Kili move forward. There was an open section a few miles southwest, where they could take refuge. Fili and Kili were far more stable in rough terrain and Thorin _personally_ wanted to watch out for the writer. “Enjoying being wet, Master Baggins?” The writer groaned, but said it was better than being cold. “I prefer you wet too.” He gave a gentle once over, smirking, watching that blush fester. “Who knew one could be attractive in such miserable weather?”

            “Maker, Thorin,” Bilbo grunted, though he felt warmer with the adventurer walking with him. Felt safer. Thorin stopped Bilbo from moving forward and Thorin combed wet curls from his forehead with a smile.

            “Need to keep both eyes clear,” he murmured, just barely audible above the downpour. “I don’t want you to slip again.” He tipped his chin up for their eyes to meet before he turned- but he was stopped.

            “Am I allowed to say I was wooed?” Thorin quirked and he stepped closer to him. “I would never have thought that someone literally coming to my rescue would have that affect.” The adventurer just began to smile. “Maker, I try not to talk to you because I know you’ll have me wooed with little words.”

            “Do I indeed?” he guided Bilbo to a tree, watched the writer back into it and gasp. “You have not a single _clue_ what you do to me.”

            “Do I do something?” Bilbo peeped and Thorin paused for a moment, looking at the wet writer over once again.

            “How could you not? You’re brilliant, and talented, friendly. hilarious drunk and sober,” Thorin combed those wet curls again with a tender smile. “Every time you tell me someone has left you, or never pursued further, I want to slap them stupid. How could they leave such a good person?”

            “Okay I _really_ want a kiss now,” Bilbo groaned, clearly impatient.

            “Oh, and what if I changed the game, and did not?” Bilbo gaped at Thorin, who could only smirk. “What would you do?”

            “Take one, of course,” Bilbo managed to sputter out before Thorin cupped his cheek, his thumb stroking over wet lips. He gulped loudly over the rain. “O-or t-try too… it’s harder to woo you than others.”

            “I’m not that hard to read am I?” Bilbo would have argued had Thorin not come down for a kiss. Maker if a regular kiss from Thorin was exquisite, one caught in the warm rain was something else entirely. They gasped and tasted rain water and one another, hands moved to hold shoulders and neck and arms- so when it ended, Bilbo’s fingers fisted tightly into Thorin’s slick shirt.

            “You’re pretty hard to read, Thorin, not to mention, sometimes you’re a bit awkward,” Thorin bowed his head at Bilbo’s words, a bit abashed, but happy.

            “I will try to be a bit more open then, though it might become more awkward,” Bilbo’s hands gripped strong biceps’ and Thorin reflexively tensed them. Bilbo’s eyes lowered to see them flex out of reaction, letting his thumbs kneed softly between the muscles. “You’ll have to let me know, if I’m unreadable.”

            “Do you like this, then?” he gave a squeeze to those powerful arms, feeling their strength return then soften at his thumbs wiggling.

            “It feels nice,” Thorin admitted- no he would _never_ let on that the writer could massage each and every muscle and all he’d want to happen is for Bilbo to do it all over again. He wasn’t a pampered soul, a massage was a gift of a lover or friend or family member, obviously an _all body_ massage was a bit more restricted but… having someone appreciate what he’d _physically_ achieve was nice too. “You like feeling them?”

            “Of _course_ I do,” Bilbo returned, indignant. “Everyone should.” He let his fingers trail up to his shoulders and gave them a squeeze too, watching shoulders slouch a bit and eyes close. “You’ll let me give you a rub down one time? I feel like I _need_ to with the way you’re falling over me.” Thorin tried to straighten himself with a blush and Bilbo wiggled his fingers. “I have talented fingers.”

            “No doubt many other talents too,” Thorin smirked as he watched the color return to Bilbo’s face, lighting up his ears. “Come on, I’m sure were behind, and if I know my nephews, they’d have left a great distance between us.” He turned, though he himself was feeling a bit like jelly. He sighed- _maybe things aren’t going sour_ , Thorin thought and then- he felt his foot give way- “Shit!” He scrambled, body jerking about as his body tried to catch itself from going down the slope-

            Arms. Arms reached out and stilled him, caught him with one foot on the edge the other dangling over. Bilbo was slowly drawing Thorin back to more flat and rooted ground. “W-Well that was exciting.” But Bilbo was positively _beaming._

            “Did I make Thorin Durin weak in the knees?” The writer giggled, leaning back smugly to observe the adventurer, a single leg gave a surrendering shake and Bilbo strode forward, _proud._ Thorin shook his head, he’d _never_ hear the end of it, but he wasn’t sure if that that truly bothered him.

            Bilbo turned about, spun really, to say something smugly, but his bag- poor thing, the weight had him swaying and then- their positions were reversed- Bilbo was falling, stepping towards the ledge as if drawn by a magnet.

            Thorin reached as Bilbo began to tip back- _'whack!'_ Thorin was on his chest then, air knocked out completely from his own fall, slicked with mud as he held onto the edge of the slope, holding onto Bilbo. “F… Thorin.”

            “H-Hush you’re fine,” Thorin growled out, breath short, though in this weather, he couldn’t get traction to lift the writer. His arm gave a shake, but he tightened his grip on Bilbo’s hand and wrist. Sharp blue eyes saw Bilbo’s other hand clinging to rock, knuckles scraped and beading with blood. His eyes searched- then- they lit upon a slight landing, enough for the writer to put his feet upon. “You’re gonna have to climb—“

            “Thorin! I've only ever climbed with ropes and pickaxes—“

            “I’ll be your rope, alright?” Thorin smiled down to him, unable to cease his own panic, he masked it out and kept his face calm. “I’m not going to let you go.” He murmured and Bilbo swallowed, trying his best to calm himself down. “I need to you to get one of your feet in that little alcove there, with the moss.” Bilbo jabbed his foot into the shallow hole and Thorin eased a breath. “Now the next one.” He indicated the next place Bilbo should move his right foot. “Good, see we’ve got this.”

            “N-No _you’ve_ got this,” Bilbo sputtered and that’s when his hazel eyes lifted- Thorin was smiling, reassuring, calm. How he could look _majestic_ half sprawled over a cliff face would _never_ make sense to the writer, but he let it fill him. He took another step per Thorin’s guidance, hearing the adventurer shuffle about in the mud above him- there was a flat area between him and the ledge- “Thorin I can’t make it, I’ll fall.”

            “You’re going to have to jump-“

            “Okay I _know_ you’re crazy up there now—“

            “Bilbo, just listen to me,” Thorin released his hand gripping the ledge, believing his legs had dug themselves into a good position. He reached for his other hand and Bilbo slipped a bit, Thorin had thought he had been stable, hissing as his chest slid across rocks and twigs until his legs scrambled to hook onto a tree- his breath tight, chest _aching._ He winced and groaned, the sharp edges of the cliff biting at his ribs.

            “T-Thorin!” Bilbo cried and the adventurer shook his head for a moment, letting out a few short puffs of breath to rid his mind of the pain- to focus. “A-Are you alright?”

            “F-For the moment,” his arms quivered, and eventually his eyes flickered open. “I need to get you to that ledge there. I’m going to give you a swing—“

            “Don’t you dare let go of me!” Bilbo roared, whining and looking between the adventurer and the landing.

            “I can’t hold you here, forever,” he groaned and his legs shook. “Trust me, there’s a large ivy vein right there…” Bilbo hesitantly looked over. “It will be your rope until I can get you up. But you have to trust me, please.”

            “You promise I won’t fall?”

            “I promise, I swear,” He hissed and slid forward a bit, Bilbo squeaked-

            “Thorin!” Bilbo gripped more fiercely, panic resurfacing and Thorin took a sharp breath. “Y-you’re…”

            “On three, alright?” Bilbo nodded and at three, Thorin gave a heave and Bilbo was able to let go and grab upon the vines tightly, clinging to them as he whimpered, letting tears that had welled fall. “Safe, Bilbo?” Thorin let his arms dangle over the edge as he caught his breath, glad for the rain to cool his heated skin.

            “I’m…” he whimpered and cleared his face. “I’m fine, are you alright, Thorin?”

            “Chest hurts,” he groaned and slowly propped himself up upon quaking arms. There wasn’t any blood staining his shirt yet, that was a good sign, but he could feel the bruising already coming on. “Nothing serious.” Thorin let his eyes scope for a way down, seeing the writer trembling on the landing was too much. This overwhelming need to protect, to guide surfaced, something he remembered feeling for his nephews when they were but babes, when his father had scorned them. “If I can get down-“

            “Thorin its way too slick, I could barely keep my hold, if it weren’t for you,” Bilbo tried to explain and Thorin groaned. “Please I can walk along here until it levels out-

            “It might not level out though,” Thorin rubbed at his abdomen, inhaling sharply. He drew out his own pickaxe and dug it into the cliff face and ventured a leg down. One hit on a solid jutting rock as he stepped down, letting out an easy breath. He was nearly level with Bilbo now, a few more steps and he could leap to the writer- hold him, kiss him- but drawing that pickaxe out took more strength than he anticipated and the next time he tried, he slipped.

            “THORIN!” The rocks were slicked with rain and moss and Thorin’s descent was quick and painful. He tried to ease his speed, kicking feet out but that only caused more shattering pain as he nearly tumbled forward- the weight of his bag kept him from tipping forward, razored rocks slit his pack’s strap and sliced his shoulder deep-

            Thorin finally found the bottom of the cliff, tumbling forward several feet where he lay there motionless, face first in the mud. “Thorin! Thorin!” Bilbo saw the vines could take him down most of the way, and so as carefully as he could, crept downwards. Thorin was trying to move, Bilbo could see over his shoulder, and he slid down the last few feet, falling to his face and covered in mud and scrapes. He rushed to Thorin and rolled him to his back when the adventurer cried out-

            “E-Easy on the back, d-dear writer,” his voice squeaked and Bilbo reached around to his back, his shoulder, and his hand returned after feeling a wet thickness glaze it- blood. Dark… being spattered by the rainwater above. Bilbo rolled Thorin to his uninjured side and saw his shirt torn and a large gash with scrapes carved into tanned skin. “S-Sit me up…” Bilbo helped the adventurer, seeing it was hard for him to ask for that help _and_ to do it alone. “Fuck…” he groaned and Bilbo mewled-

            “I have to find Fili and Kili—“

            “You leave me, I will be in trouble,” Bilbo whimpered and Thorin tossed his head to his pack. “I’ve got bandages.” The writer scrambled in the dead leaves and mud, drawing his pack to him. Thorin swallowed thickly as the writer drew them out with shaky hands.

            “You should have just let me walk Thorin—“

            “What and miss the fun?” Thorin snarled lowly when he rolled his wounded shoulder, biting his tongue fiercely. “Worst rescue ever.”

            “I…” Bilbo sighed. “I was wooed for a moment.”

            “Better than none, I suppose…” Thorin tried to raise his arms above his head and groaned.

            “Lean forward and put your arms out, forward, I mean,” Bilbo murmured, helping the adventurer to lean forward and slowly and carefully drew his shirt off- “D-Dear… Maker Thorin…”

            “It’s fine,” he mumbled and drew out an empty canister and opened it- “We can patch it better when we make camp.”

            “You can’t _walk!”_

            “My legs are shaky, but they’re fine,” Thorin rolled his ankles, bent each leg. “When this is full, douse me…” Bilbo shook his head as his eyes watched the rain fill the container. He dabbed a cloth from his bag into the water and went around to Thorin’s back.

            “M-Maker Thorin…” gasped Bilbo, trembling as his hands tried to clean the mud and grime from the wound without causing more pain. Seeing scars had only made Bilbo wonder what each fall or stumble or fight Thorin had found himself in. Which hurt the most, which were serious, which were patched in moments and forgotten? “Oh s-shit there’s so much blood T-Thorin-“

            “You have surprisingly steady hands, Master Baggins,” Thorin wheezed and smirked over his good shoulder. “For seeing so much—“

            “This isn’t funny!” Bilbo screeched, though satisfied with the wound.

            “The water is making it look like it’s more than it seems,” that wasn’t _completely_ true, but it didn’t matter, so long as Bilbo managed to remain calm. “You’re going to take this over my other shoulder…” Thorin guided where Bilbo would stream the bandages, until they could make better ones. Bilbo’s hands were shaking now, and Thorin held the bandages when Bilbo would ask. They didn’t make eye contact, but Thorin watched the entire time, in hopes the writer would look, would smile.

            It wasn’t until Bilbo had finished that Thorin was gifted his eye contact. “Think I should get a kiss, to make the pain go away.”

            “Maker T-Thorin,” Bilbo slapped his arm, though careful to make sure it was low enough _not_ to harm Thorin further. Bilbo leaned in and Thorin let his good hand come and hold Bilbo’s head, stroking his ear softly. The rain slipped between them, but it only kept them together for longer. “You think you can stand?” Thorin nodded, moving to his knees and fisting the ground below, slowly pushing himself up- free arm waving about to catch his balance.

            “Gonna be hurting for a _while,”_ the adventurer chuckled and Bilbo handed _his_ own bag to Thorin, both straps in working order. Bilbo drew out of Thorin’s pack the large leather coat he’d bought and offered it to the adventurer who slipped it on.

            “Have to keep it as dry as possible, silly,” Bilbo managed, though there was hardly any brightness to his voice, it was dark and worried.

            “Hey now,” Thorin cornered Bilbo to look at him, lifting his head. “I’m fine, alright. Not going to pass out or catch a fever, I’m no Dwalin.” Bilbo groaned and shook his head. “And I have myself a wee healer, don’t I?”

            “I’m not much of anything, Thorin,” the writer countered defensively, upset.

            “I wouldn’t say that,” he assured. “You’ve proven to me many things.”

            “Li-Like what?”

            “Like you’re brave, when you don’t want to be, when you’re scared, you still find a way, tell me what writer would climb down that cliff for me?” Bilbo glanced back to it, not realizing how _long_ of a fall it had been for Thorin until looking up. “Come.” Carefully then, they headed forward- and to their _great relief_ it did flatten out- and that’s when they saw Fili rushing back.

            “Uncle! Mister Bilbo!” Thorin gave a wobble and Bilbo reached to steady him. “Kili! Kili over here!” Fili rushed forward to take the bag from his Uncle and offer his shoulder to help him. Kili fetched Bilbo’s bag as the youngest guided them to where they had started to set camp.

            The two brothers had managed to chop a few large leaves down to protect their things whilst they set up their tarps. They sat Thorin under their supplies to keep dry, but he wanted to help.

            “No Thorin, you’re going to stay here, and I’ll help,” Bilbo retorted and Thorin growled at him.

            “I should be the one to help—“

            “With that shoulder, you’d fall over!” Bilbo shoved Thorin back _down_ to a rock, pressing against his wounded shoulder, making the adventurer compliant. Bilbo captured Thorin’s lips before the adventurer had time to react, licking his lips and letting his tongue dive into a warm and gasping mouth. Thorin was quick to react, moaning against the writer before he pulled back. “Now stay out you great idiot, before you do something stupid and… and heroic.” Bilbo turned and fetched his machete and asked what he could do to help. Kili showed Bilbo how to slice down the large thick leaves that they could use to build a roof with. He showed him to bundle them together.

            Fili had Bilbo help make two large areas conjoined together, and they started two fires to get the ground dryer, though it did little without the help of laying down greenery to keep the tarps clean. They finally had two roofs for shelter and began to set up their tents, and they brought Thorin over, sitting him before the fire.

            His wounds had long soaked through the bandages, and Fili fetched more from his bag and Bilbo shakily undid them.

            “Uncle! What happened?” Kili gasped at the open wound, Fili hissing at the sight.

            “Heat this water up,” Bilbo commanded then, and Bilbo looked to Kili. “In my bag, I have a small brown and white pouch, fetch it.” Fili returned with boiled water, and Kili back with the pack. He drew out a small pouch of herbs and dabbled some into the water and then soaked a rag and just as it touched Thorin’s first scrape the adventurer howled in pain.

            “Maker d-dammit…” he bowed his head and Fili and Kili whimpered.

            “G-Get some food going, you two,” Bilbo insisted and they quickly leapt to their feet to start dinner at the shelter adjacent.

            “My you can command them so easily,” Thorin groaned again when the rag returned to his wounds. “What _is_ that?”

            “Antibacterial,” Bilbo murmured. “Anti anything dangerous. Basically.” Bilbo rinsed his wound again with warm water, the adventurer clenching and gritting teeth together. “S-Sorry…”

            “Don’t be,” Thorin smiled slightly and let his head bow again.

            “I… this is too big to stay open, Thorin,” the adventurer only grunted though.

            “It needs to dry out, and we need to make sure it’s not infected before we patch it,” Thorin straightened and let out a low hiss, rolling his neck. “Maker I’m stiff.” He stretched a bit slowly and Bilbo watched with his heart _wrenching_ tightly. If he hadn’t been playing cute, it wouldn’t have happened, what was he thinking, he had just seen Thorin fall! “Stop that.” Bilbo stilled.

            “I’m not doing anything,” the writer mumbled.

            “You’re thinking,” Thorin replied softly and Bilbo looked up to see steely blue eyes gazing over his shoulder. “You’re trying to take blame for my fall.”

            “But—“

            “It’s neither our faults, well, a bit mine, but,” Thorin shrugged softly. “I know that look and silence well enough to know you’re trying to find blame. And how much it amuses me and warms me you want to take responsibility, it is no one’s fault.” Bilbo tore his eyes away, staring into the warmth of the flames and shut his eyes. “Thanks though.”

            “F… For what?” His eyes lifted.

            “You came for me,”

            “Why wouldn’t I, that’s just stupid and a horrible thing to do someone! What was I going to do, leave you to die?!” Bilbo growled and raged, standing and marching off towards Fili and Kili, throwing himself into his tent. Thorin chuckled and sat quietly, letting his eyes close peacefully. Thorin eventually struggled to stand and headed for their tent, catching the writer just coming out.

            “Would you mind helping me?” Bilbo blinked at Thorin and moved aside for the adventurer to come within, laying down a few towels first before flopping down.

            “What do you need?” The writer asked, standing at Thorin’s feet.

            “I need to get out of my wet pants and boots-“

            “W-W—no no! No I can’t do that Thorin!” The writer squirmed and Thorin glanced up.

            “I can’t very well do it _swiftly_ or easily,” Thorin chided, but he saw _why_ the writer had retorted so quickly- so defensively. His cheeks were bright red, his eyes avoidant. “Please.” Thorin murmured and those eyes flickered to his own. “I need your help.” It had the effect he wanted. Bilbo swallowed and tensed, but slowly fell to his knees and began to undo his boots with a quickness, though his fingers trembled.

            “Y-You’re a-awful Thorin Durin,” he growled out to the adventurer.

            “So you’ve told me,” Thorin reclined a bit. “And it’s beginning to wear off, the insult.”

            “T-Then you’re despicable,” he huffed out and Thorin whimpered, touching his bared chest.

            “That hurt,” and the break in his voice made Bilbo raise his eyes- worried if he had really _hurt_ Thorin with the insult. The adventurer trying to look over his shoulder and feel at the bandage and wound, hissing when his fingertips lit upon it.

            “Don’t touch it,” Bilbo reached and Thorin glanced back over. “I put hard work into that, don’t go… messing with it.” The writer huffed frustratedly. Thorin smiled and let his arm fall to the bed again. Bilbo had removed his shoes, but now came the part he was dreading _most._

            They had seen plenty of one another, had _bathed_ together, why was this such a task? _Because I’m stripping Thorin!_ Bilbo hissed at himself. “Can’t you do this?” Bilbo sat then, shoulders slumped and huffing- “R-Really I mean, really Thorin, I can’t, you have a good arm.”

            “I have _one_ good arm,” Thorin returned the puff of exasperation.

            “You could throw me _down_ with a good arm, but you can’t take your own slacks off?” He growled, arms folding over his chest as Thorin smirked.

            “Would you prefer me to pin you down with my good arm then?” He reached and stroked one of Bilbo’s arms, making the writer twitch and whine a bit, jerking from him. “I’m not asking to be an ass, I promise. I’d _like_ the help.and I… could use it. I can’t lay on my back. Please.” Thorin drew his hand back, opened to face Bilbo in surrender. Bilbo glared long and hard at the adventurer determining whether it was some joke or not before he sighed and fetched a pair of dry slacks from his bag and set them aside.

            He scooted forward and then paused-

            “I swear Thorin, if you make one joke when I do this-“

            “I will not,” Thorin murmured softly, his voice tight. Bilbo wondered why it had sounded so thick then, so closed. Was he embarrassed? Humiliated? Was he aroused? Maker, Bilbo couldn’t even _begin_ to think like that. Carefully his hands undid the laces and buttons and took a breath-

            “R-Raise your hips,” so Thorin leaned back the slightest and raised them only a few inches, and barely long enough for the writer to draw them off his hips. Bilbo managed to get them to his knees before he had to turn aside, red in the face- he’d never _gotten_ to stare _past_ Thorin’s hips because he’d been far too distracted. And now, having a chance to do so, so closely, to see his legs quiver from chills, damp from the rain…

            Bilbo could take no more. “I-I think you can do-do the rest on your own!” And Thorin chuckled but did kick the wet pants off and drew them into a pile with his hand. He maneuvered around to draw off his smalls before settling back and unfolding the dry pair of slacks, sticking his legs within. He would not ask the writer for further aide, he could see how much stress it had caused. Thorin laid back gently and slowly, raising his hips to slide his pants on- hissing as his shoulder dug into the soft bed. Bilbo whipped his head around at a particularly _loud_ groan- Thorin pausing. “I!” Bilbo peeped. “I’d have… h-helped with that!” His eyes diverted and Thorin smiled, continued to wiggle until his pants were at his waist.

            “I think I have abused our friendship a bit too much today,” Thorin chuckled, shakily rising and Bilbo reached to help him.

            “Never,” Bilbo whispered and Thorin smiled, moving to tie up his slacks. Bilbo watched with captivated eyes- “How did you learn to tie _knots_ one handed?” Bilbo blinked, though vaguely aware he was _staring pointedly_ at Thorin’s crotch.

            “I broke my arm—“

            “When did you do that?!”

            “When I was a lad,” Thorin chuckled. “Barely older than a tween. I needed to tie off my arm, to keep the blood coming out.”

            “You made a tourniquet on… oh… M-Maker,” Bilbo swooned a bit and Thorin laughed. “Alright, you have a whole new air to you, it says _hardcore_ right now.”

            “I was old enough to know I needed to get somewhere without blood gushing everywhere,” Bilbo shivered and Thorin moved to his bag and drew out a pair of dry shoes. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He stuck both boots on and drew Bilbo’s hand to his own, showing and guiding each finger where to hold. Bilbo made a very loose bow and then a tighter one on the other. “See? Not that hard.”

            “It would be harder if I was tying a knot over a wound,” Bilbo shivered and Thorin leaned against Bilbo then.

            “You did fine with mine,” their eyes met, and both their eyes fell to their mouths, then raised again. “Thank you. I mean it. For what it’s worth. Whether you had to save me or chose to. I’ve never fallen when someone was around, so I’m not… used to the help.”

            “I noticed when you tried to sit up on your own and take your shirt off,” Bilbo shook his head. “And, for the record, any time you go on another crazy adventure backpacking, take me with you.” Bilbo shuffled towards the tent front and Thorin reached for him.

            “Seriously?”

            “Thorin, what if you’d fallen and I wasn’t around,” Bilbo whimpered and turned his head away. “I’d rather know I could be there to help, rather than find out a year later that you barely survived. It’s different seeing and hearing about all of your other scars and stories. I’ve only experienced the dangerous aspects of travelling, and I was grateful you were there, but seeing _you_ injured…” Bilbo just let a shiver rake up his spine, shaking it off when it reached his shoulders. “I can see all the near death experiences as if I was a fly on the wall.”

            “You have a very active imagination,” Thorin moved forward, scooting towards the exit. “Not all of them were this bad.” Bilbo shrugged though. “And I am _happy_ you are here.” He kissed his temple, using his free arm to heft his weight forward and stand. Bilbo was still impressed Thorin was fully aware of his body, despite his injuries. He was able to function perfectly with one arm, the left arm only doing small menial tasks like move an empty plate or something light. He couldn’t imagine that Thorin wasn’t sore in other places, he’d fallen several feet. Maybe even a hundred.

            That kiss burned a promise against his mind; _I’m allowed to be there._ It whispered. Dinner was soon ready and the four of them gathered around the fire, Thorin using his legs to hold the bowl of food there, though he very much _wished_ he could have used his other hand to hold it. Of course his nephews made a stew, it was easy and they were clearly shaken seeing their Uncle injured, their wary eyes lingering upon him. He chased the last scoop of broth around for _several_ minutes before giving up and setting it aside. Bilbo had noticed it, had tipped the bowl and scooped the rest into his spoon, holding it out for Thorin to take it.

            Except he just took the spoonful into his mouth with a grin. Bilbo flailed as soon as the spoon was freed of Thorin’s mouth, his cheeks red at _feeding_ the adventurer. Bilbo went to dry Thorin’s hair, Fili and Kili doing the same to one another, eventually the atmosphere becoming light again. Fili and Kili asking what sort of dashing heroics their Uncle had done to get his new battle scar. Thorin laughed, and said he had actually slipped a bit earlier, due to Bilbo being wily. They were captivated by the story, as if they were at their home and Thorin returned with new stories to tell them.

            When they prepared for bed, Bilbo unwrapped Thorin’s bandages to apply another round of antibiotics to the wound, making Thorin hiss and groan all over again. He was pleased they had not turned too awfully red, nor were they warm.

            “I have a cream, I can make, to keep on for the night,” Bilbo murmured. “I have to make it, but it won’t take long.” So Thorin let the writer fetch what he needed and watched him stir in a powder and smash it into water, then a few leaves came, eventually the mush turning into a strange opaque white green.

            “That looks _awful,”_ Thorin murmured.

            “Well it smells nice, and it’ll help with inflammation too,” Bilbo raised his eyes and indicated for Thorin to turn again. He dabbled it carefully in and around his cuts before Thorin’s shoulders fell lax. “Better?”

            “It tingles, feels good,” Thorin purred and Bilbo eyed his back for a moment, before his fingers carefully lit upon shoulders, pressing into tense and tight muscles. “Oh, I get that rub down now?”

            “I thought… it might help,” his hands drew away and Thorin craned his head over his shoulder-

            “Please, I ache in places I didn’t think existed,”

            “You’ve fallen before, didn’t you find those places already?” Bilbo teased and let his fingers roll against Thorin’s neck.

            “No matter how many times you fall, you _always_ find new places to ache in,” Thorin purred _contently_ at the strong fingers at his neck, then slowly dipping down his shoulders. They were powerful and whittled away knots in his back and tension he’d gained from his fall within a few moments, when Bilbo pressed against Thorin’s side, he hissed. Bilbo turned to see a bruise forming, still a bit pink and only slightly purple, he gasped.

            “Thorin! Your ribs!” Thorin looked around and groaned at the sight, then, began to press at them, hissing, but sighed.

            “Well, they’re not broken, surprised my chest is faring well,”

            “What happened to your chest?”

            “Oh I just fell on it,” Thorin grinned. “The cliff edge was digging, I’ve got these little lines, and large bruising under my pectorals.”

            “No…” Bilbo moved around and Thorin showed Bilbo who tentatively reached and touched the bruises- a touch so soft it might as well had not been there.

            “You have a healer’s touch,” Thorin commented and Bilbo glanced up, curious.

            “Why do you say that?”

            “I’ve _been_ to many healers, in my time,” Thorin chuckled. “And the most gentle were the ones in the tribes or natives I had encountered, for that was all they did, healed. You have that innate soft-touch, as they call it. Healer Hands, or Deft Fingers. I’m sure you’d make a great burglar and thief.”

            “Hardly,” Bilbo commented and leaned forward again, but stopped, a wince. “Ow…” Bilbo reached and touched his own side.

            “But I think I should turn on my own healing charms, shirt off, Master Baggins, we haven’t given you a proper look at,” Bilbo writhed a bit, but did undo his shirt and draw it away. Thorin saw a nasty bruise at his ribs, and moved a hand forward, then paused. “May I?” Bilbo just swallowed and nodded. He pressed and Bilbo would wince and groan, but nothing was broke. He looked at each of his arms and hands, tried for his waist, but Bilbo assured Thorin there was nothing wrong with his legs. Bilbo put his shirt back on, with a smile.

            “Thanks for… reminding me I fell too,” Bilbo sighed and looked to Thorin. “How are you going to sleep-“

            “Face first,” Thorin chuckled and moved to get adjusted and flopped contently down into the pillows, face first as explained. “Back can air out and I can sort of be comfortable this way.” The writer sat there for a moment and then curled to Thorin’s uninjured side, resting his head against his good shoulder. “Gonna sleep there all night? I’m afraid my back isn’t as soft as the front.”

            “If you’re uncomfortable sleeping, then I will be too,” Bilbo affirmed. “I can make do to be close.” Thorin smiled and quickly, they found themselves drifting to sleep.

            Thorin woke groggily aware hands were pressing into his back, gentle, but firm. Sometimes he swore they were counting things, each rib or freckle that happened to find its way under curious fingers. He opened his eyes and craned his head over his shoulder to see Bilbo wholly unaware that he’d woken. When his hands would press in better places, he’d moan happily, when they reached areas he didn’t like, he’d huff. “Oh! Th-Thorin!” Bilbo squeaked- “H-How long have you been awake?”

            “A bit,” Thorin turned a bit more. “How long have you been giving me a back massage while I was asleep?” Bilbo’s cheeks lit brightly and he looked away. He’d just woken with an urge to touch, to feel the skin he’d slept on all night. The adventurer had _allowed_ the added weight upon his sore and bruised body as if it were natural. Bilbo had felt guilty and stroked his skin. Seeing it react whilst Thorin slept encouraged him, and gentle hums of his sleeping companion had been enthralling.

            Thorin felt at his cuts when Bilbo moved them outside to rinse out the cream. “We could probably sew it today.” He looked to Bilbo who tensed under the look. “And if you don’t want too, that is fine, I will need a bit of help though.”

            “You… would do it yourself?!” Bilbo hissed in shock.

            “My nephews aren’t ready for this,” he sighed. “No matter how much I’ve taught them. I need steady hands, either yours or mine.”

            “M-Mine are hardly steady,” Bilbo swallowed and Thorin grinned.

            “When my life is involved, I find they can steel themselves,” the writer fidgeted and took a breath. “It’s just like sewing.”

            “Oh, Maker, you didn’t make that comparison!” Bilbo growled out but collapsed before Thorin. The adventurer reached for his hands that were rubbing thumbs along the pads of his worn fingers.

            “Look, it is very similar, and I know you’ve patched many a shirt that tore. I have a whole kit for… binding up a wound,” Bilbo nodded and went to retrieve it. Fili and Kili were standing before their Uncle, hesitant, worried. “Why don’t you fetch some food? You know what to look for.”

            “We want to be here for you,” Kili demanded, though he was terrified to look at their Uncle’s back. They had _always_ seen his scars, heard his stories, but never _once_ had they _been_ there. Been unable to do a thing. Their Uncle was invincible, and now he was hurt.

            “You can be, just get some food, we’re low on fruits and such, please, and get some more of these herbs,” Thorin handed Fili a herb from Bilbo’s stash. “It’ll be found in mossy and moist areas, alright?”

            “Uncle,” Fili started. “If we hadn’t run off—“

            “Hush, I told Bilbo it was no one’s fault and no one is to blame, I’m mad it happened, but not _at_ anyone,” He stood and reached to hold both their shoulders, giving a strong squeeze before he found them buried against his chest. Bilbo swooned when he came out, seeing the nephews burying their heads against their Uncle’s chest with remorse.

            “He’s going to be fine, okay?” Bilbo came to them, beaming. “I’m not just a writer, I know a fair amount about how to fix one's beaten self up.” They whimpered a bit and thanked the writer and Bilbo shooed them off for food. “When you come back, you’re Uncle will be patched up, I promise.” They slipped their hoods on, jumped into their ponchos and darted off into the rain. “Will _they_ be okay?”

            “We’re on a plateau I believe,” Thorin let his eyes survey the area. “They are well aware of any damaging places.” Gray blue eyes fell upon the ruffled blonde curls, tugging upon one lightly. “You can be very calm when you need to be.” Bilbo swallowed and lowered his eyes.

            “They’re boys, they see their Uncle hurt and they’re scared,” Bilbo looked to the direction they had darted through. “They need…” he stiffened and paused. “A… A steady hand.” Thorin sat down and braced himself, leaning forward slightly. Bilbo had a bit of alcohol, enough to sterilize the stitching and needle- a long curved thing that glimmered sharply in the firelight. Thorin had two things with him, a bottle of brandy and a piece of rolled leather. He chugged a good amount of brandy and hissed at it’s own searing pain. “That going to help?”

            “Maybe,” Thorin murmured. “This is a pretty big wound, but at least I can be drunk after.”

            “Thorin,” Bilbo chastised and Thorin sighed.

            “Hopefully it will,” He waved the piece of leather- “I will be chewing on this, so don’t panic if I sound muffled.” Bilbo’s eyes lit upon it. “I was given this the first time I was injured, my first journey alone. The healers offered it to me to cease my screaming.”

            “S-Screaming,…” Bilbo whined. “Right.”

            “I will not be screaming this time,” he murmured softly. “Let’s get this over with.” He took another swig of his brandy with a wince.

            Bilbo moved around behind Thorin, looking at the gaping wound and taking a breath. Needle threaded and knotted, he stabbed skin and Thorin growled-

            “Hold wait a fucking moment!” Thorin snarled and Bilbo gasped- “Yikes, Bilbo.” He drew the needle out with a hiss.

            “You’re bleeding!”

            “You pricked me,” Thorin chuckled, the whole of the wound was sore, tender, the little prick wouldn’t have been more than a shift moment of discomfort accompanied by a moan, but… “Okay, really look at the wound-“

            “What?! No!”

            “Do it, dammit,” Thorin snarled. “There’s deep pink tissue right?” Bilbo gulped, but opened the wound up a bit, much to Thorin’s discomfort.

            “Y-Yes,” a gentle peep.

            “Th-Then it starts to turn a lighter pink, until it’s sort of white, peachy, and then you can see the layer of just outer skin, right?” Bilbo said yes again in another soft trembling voice. “That white layer is where you want to hook the needle in, not any deeper, but not any less, otherwise, the skin will just eventually expel it.” Bilbo nodded and cleaned the needle again and cleared away the droplets of blood that had bubbled. The first stick had Thorin grinding his teeth together.

            He had that piece of leather for such occasions, and he fisted it, he’d wait it out. The next prick hurt a bit more, tears boiled to his eyes. Thorin felt his body was hyper aware of every pinch and prick. The alcohol was dimming _some_ of the pain, but he could feel it very clearly, despite that. Thorin finally brought the roll to his teeth, digging into it firmly at the next few pricks Bilbo had made. Bilbo was _terrified._ He’d never heard Thorin in such pain, never imagined this is what it would sound like- but despite those cries muffled by his bite, he remained steady.

            He had too. He’d never be able to help Thorin if he didn’t concentrate. Blood dotted where he would pierce and he’d wipe it away and Thorin would groan at the pain that would bubble at the alcohol and cream worked its magic. He could feel Bilbo nearing the end, and his head was bowed, chest shaking from breathing, tears streaming down his cheeks- the searing pain too much for his body to restrain. When Bilbo finished and tied the stitching off, he gave it a gentle stroke, a guttural moan escaping Thorin.

            Finally, the writer could see the tremors in his body from the pain that flushed within. He set the needle aside and moved before Thorin, lifting his head. He never expected the tears, not that he didn’t think they wouldn't fall- Thorin would have to be some sort of demented to not cry at the feelings, at least, to not have a body react _properly_ to have not cried. They continued to fall, the bit Thorin had stored in his mouth in an open hand, trembled, fresh bite marks sinking within the durable roll. Bilbo lifted Thorin’s head up further, wiping his tears, but more would slip free- Maker what could he do? The worst was over, but for Bilbo, seeing Thorin suffering was worse.

            The wound was nasty, a gash that tore past muscle and tendon, bloody, but even _that_  didn’t have the same effect upon him as seeing Thorin’s face red and swollen with tears, mouth parted to breathe in shakily. Bilbo moved. He moved swiftly and pooled himself in Thorin’s lap and kissed him. He held his face, letting fingers tangle into his beard and kissed.

            He thought he’d never kissed so passionately and desperately before. He wanted to wipe those tears away, but he couldn’t with his hands. No amount of coaxing would cease the downpour. Bilbo swiped Thorin’s lips, nibbled upon the bottom one and Thorin moaned. Their tongues danced and Bilbo sucked upon Thorin’s, the adventurer loving that the writer took control of their kiss. Those hands began to coil into dark hair, pressing his tongue in deeper, stroking his neck and pressing his body closer to Thorin’s. Sitting in the adventurer’s lap allowed Bilbo a position he’d never have gotten before; He was taller than Thorin here, like this, was able to tip his head to and fro how he wanted to deepen the kiss. A command Thorin had at his use all the time when they stood together.

            Their breaths came shorter and shorter, Thorin’s arms found they could move, could wrap around a waist and back and keep the writer closer. Maker, it felt _amazing_ to hold something, _someone_ after such excruciation, stinging, throbbing _pain_ , to _feel it_ disolve at the insistent mouth upon his, at the demanding and exploring hands. Thorin found his hands moving up a back, cupping Bilbo’s neck and shoulder, drawing the writer back to break their kiss. Their cheeks were red and sure enough Thorin’s tears had stopped- they sort of _had too_ after such an amazing kiss. He blinked at the writer before he started to see tears well in Bilbo’s eyes. “Hey now, you just kissed me _senseless_ to get rid of my tears.” He reached and cupped a reddened cheek. Bilbo whimpered and buried his face against that caressing hand. “Come now, don’t cry for me.” A few sniffles had Bilbo willing away his tears, swallowing hard, and nodding. Thorin smiled, though the pain was far more intense in his shoulder from being pulled and squeezed and pressed, the absolute _flutter_ in his chest and gut were more than enough distractions. “That was a nice kiss.”

            Thorin leaned back a bit, eyeing the writer. “You even came and sat in my lap, tsk, what will that do to me?” Bilbo realized where he was, planted _contently_ and firmly in Thorin’s lap, but the adventurer did not release Bilbo when he tried to move. “Oh no, you’re here, might as well stay.” Thorin chided- “It’s…” but his brows knitted together and Bilbo ceased moving. Thorin’s whole playful demeanor had changed, looking serious and content. “It’s comforting. And distracting.”

            “You were crying,” a choked mumble.

            “Of course I was crying,” Thorin tutted, though the playfulness returned. “It hurt. A lot. I couldn’t help it if I wanted to stop them.” Bilbo bowed his head and Thorin tipped it up with a kiss. “I liked what I got for them- and would suffer those tears again for this to happen over and over.” Bilbo thumped Thorin against the chest, but they both shared a laugh. Thorin rested his chin upon Bilbo’s shoulder, letting his eyes shut and hum. “I don’t want to fall asleep here, but you’re quite comfortable.”

            “T-Thorin Durin, did you just!” Bilbo tutted and they laughed again and Bilbo drew his face away, holding Thorin’s up. “Off to bed with you.”

            “You still have to bandage me up,” Bilbo groaned and made a new dose of cream. He pressed his lips to the top of the wound, Thorin panted and Bilbo kissed the entire length of it, careful not to press too hard, before he lathered the cream against them. “What was that for?”

            “Kisses to make it feel better,” Bilbo chided, though Thorin knew the blush upon the writer’s face had to be _bright._ He chuckled but bowed his head and whispered a soft thanks. Thorin was asleep by the time Bilbo finishing bandaging him, hand holding his face up, elbow dug into a raised thigh. His left arm and leg were stretched out and Bilbo moved to drape a blanket over Thorin, fluffed and combed his hair back into a bun. He realized then, his hands began to tremble afterwards- “T-That’ll be something to write about.”

            However, he knew he would do it all over again for Thorin. He knew that despite how scared he was, how cowardly he might be, and how insignificant he might have been to Thorin…

            He’d have gone with Thorin. He’d have patched him and tried to spare him such pain. “Yes, I think our burglar would do just that too, don’t you think Thorin?” Bilbo said to himself as he washed his hands in the rain water and turning back towards their tent and the journals within. “Think I’ll get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, when I finish my little smutty oneshot of Thilbo, I'll post it after Chp. 20, since that's where I have the little tumble occur- and I'll make a link for it too :3
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter, I hope it's to your liking!


	20. Pivotal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much chastity. Too little response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, sorry posting this took so long! I haven't finished my little one shot yet, and I really wanted to post them together, but clearly, I wrote far more there than I ever intended.
> 
> It's coming my lovelies! In the meantime, enjoy this, I hope.

             **Chapter 20: Pivotal**

            Thorin woke what seemed like only a few minutes to later, to giggling. His eyes roamed hazily around their camp to find Fili and Kili at their other fire, smirking, jabbing one another playfully. Thorin stretched, waking up further when he felt a delicate hand rest at his shoulder. “Hungry?” His stormy blue eyes raised, still hazy. They brightened seeing Bilbo smile, holding out a plate. “I’m afraid you fell asleep right there. Couldn’t move you and… didn’t want to wake you.” He offered the plate to Thorin who took it with a smile, lowering it to his lap as Bilbo moved around to sit before him.

            “I’m… surprised I fell asleep for… so long,” Thorin gazed, though it still poured heavily, he could tell it had been some time since he’d been stitched. He gave a long stretch and a yawn and Bilbo chuckled. “What?”

            “You looked like a great cat, right then,” Bilbo beamed, playing with his food.  “Your nephews were terrified I had killed you, left you there to rot. They called to you and you didn’t wake.”

            “I uh, must have been out,” Bilbo grinned eyeing the bottle of empty brandy.

            “You might have drunk yourself into a stupor, more likely,” Thorin gave the bottle a nudge and Fili and Kili finally ventured over, Kili wanting a peek at his Uncle’s wound.

            “How did you patch him up, Mister Bilbo?” Thorin was the only one to notice the slight tremble in his hands- bright eyes answered.

            “It was a bit… tricky, but,” Bilbo blushed. “I had a good teacher. I was worried for him.” Both the brother’s cooed together and Thorin snarled a bit, but all in good fun. Thorin hissed as he moved around a bit and Bilbo stood, setting his food aside to look at Thorin’s bandages. The wound hadn’t become red or swollen, he’d kept himself and the wound clean. Thorin wasn’t used to the wound being closed. “You can’t stretch it like you normally do.”

            “Maker,” Thorin rolled his eyes. “Knock me out again!” He rolled his shoulder despite it, and Bilbo slapped his arm for it, their eyes glaring sharply at one another before Thorin relented, sitting still as Bilbo reapplied his cream to it and did the bandage back up. Their dinner was pleasant, and soon they were retiring. Bilbo showed Thorin what he had written in the time the adventurer had been sleeping.

            The adventurer grew hot and discarded slacks for shorts, laying on his stomach, reading, though having to adjust often. Bilbo was beside him, drawing off his own shirt for a tank top and a pair of thinner pants. The writer hadn’t been gifted many chances to stare at Thorin’s lower half- or rather, he never made it _past_ his hips. This was the second time he was able to stare so prominently. He’d seen Thorin’s scars before upon his back, but had never thought they traveled so much lower too. Thorin squirmed and Bilbo sent a hand out to the back of Thorin’s knee, making the adventurer crane his head, humming.

            “How did you even get so many,” Bilbo’s finger was soft again, they trembled just the slightest. This scar curved around to the side of his knee and the writer met Thorin’s gaze.

            “Not all of them have heroics tales attached,” Thorin chuckled and stared to his leg then. “Many happened together. When I got lost, my biggest adventure on my own…” Bilbo nodded with memory. “I also hurt other parts. I could walk alright, but not for long- I have matching scars from falling…” Thorin sat up, arching as he pointed to the other smaller scar on his other leg. Bilbo’s fingers moved from one leg to the other and then they tickled up his thigh and Thorin wiggled, chuckling. “I’m uh, ticklish.” Bilbo blinked widely- “So, unless you want me to roll like a pup and open my shoulder back up~” Bilbo sighed to him.

            “I’ll find a way to do it later,” Thorin grinned and moved one leg _apart_ from the other just the slightest, watching hazel eyes _owl_. He saw his mouth part and Thorin decided to just roll to his back, propping himself up on his good arm.

            “You’ve seen all this before, why do they interest you now?” Bilbo lifted his eyes to Thorin and then, lowered them to watch his hands fumbling together.

            “I saw you _get_ one,” Thorin smiled though and let out a quieted sigh. “You have so many…”

            “I fell many times,” the adventurer murmured. “I have probably over 50.”

            “That’s… _a lot,”_ Bilbo swallowed a bit thickly. “Is there anywhere you _don’t_ have them?”

            “Three places,” Bilbo blinked, curious. “My feet.” Bilbo moved his eyes downwards, to feet covered by dry and warm socks. “I’d rather spend a lot of money upon good boots, they’ll survive a beating, clothes… not so much.”

            “And the other two?”

            “Of course my waist. Er… the particular pieces regarding my waist,” he waved towards his crotch and slapped his side, hinting his backside. “Obviously I’d keep them in good shape.”

            “Of _course_ ,” Bilbo chuckled, though his cheeks lit. “And the third?”

            “My head,” Thorin touched his beard, under his chin. “At least, not since I was a wee thing. I fell, scraped my chin. By I haven’t fallen on my head since.” Bilbo chuckled at that which made Thorin smile. Bilbo’s eyes finally lit to Thorin’s chest which had slowly colored in bruises, purple welts now sat under his pectoral and at the crest of his abdominals.

            “I can’t believe you actually _have_ bruises here,” Bilbo extended his soft fingers again, slowly tickling up a pectoral and over a nipple- Thorin let out a drawling hiss as his eyes closed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… did I hurt you?”

            “No, uh, skin’s sensitive,” Thorin rubbed his pectoral, but more prominently his nipple that had been _set afire_ by that delicate and innocent touch. Thorin moved his hand away, beckoned Bilbo’s to return. Fingertips relit memories to each scar he touched, making new ones as they dragged from spot to spot. Fingers slid through his dark hair from pectorals down his abdomen, feather light touches tickling over hips and stopping at the waistband. Thorin showed Bilbo one scar that went down the side of his hip, shuffling a bit _out_ of his shorts and smalls, both their cheeks heating, though neither saying a thing about it.

            “How do they all _not_ have stories,” Bilbo murmured, eyes flicking back to his legs, where his inquisitiveness had blossomed. “I can’t imagine having this many.”

            “Well, I’ve only really suffered one major heartbreak that left me scarred,” he bowed his head- “Imagine for all the emotional suffering you’ve burdened with, that I’ve shared in that physically.” Their eyes sparked when they met- no Bilbo had grieved for his parents dying when he was a lad; grieved and tried his best to shelter a heart that only wanted a companion, a friend, _family_ , _anything_ to latch onto and hold. Thorin had only spoken that his father and grandfather were… royal prigs and that his only injustice was due to his nephews. “Trying to be poetic, didn’t work.” Thorin chuckled and Bilbo smiled and took one of Thorin’s hands into his, laying on his side so Thorin wasn’t _just_ propped on a single arm.

            “Even your hands have scars,” he traced one in his palm, a few over knuckles and wrists. “I couldn’t count them all.”

            “You could try,” Thorin grinned.

            “Well I would definitely have to check these parts you said you have never been scarred before,” he tapped his forehead, nudged one of his feet and… tapped a protruding hipbone. “I can’t believe your back is scarred and your… b-backside is not.”

            “Got to keep it presentable, don’t I?” Thorin smirked and loved when Bilbo lit up brightly. “Why did you want to inspect it now? I’m not shaving for you to inspect my head.” Bilbo gaped then and Thorin rolled to his stomach, a brow raised high to tease the writer who just _continued_ to gape like a fish out of water. “Oh, you’re so flustered.”

            “You just!” Bilbo huffed. “You just rolled over to show me your—“

            “My what? I just rolled to my stomach~” he teased back and rested his chin upon his arms and gave a glance over to the writer. “You can touch that too, if you’d like.” Bilbo _squealed_ at Thorin, sitting upright with a straightened back, completely thrown by the playful remarks and casualness of the whole situation.

            “Y-You’re unbelievable, Th-Thorin,” the writer managed to peter out but those steely blue eyes would just twinkle with delight, in mischievousness. “You…” and after some time, Thorin returned to reading what the writer had penned during his midday nap, Bilbo finally found his courage again. “I really could… _look?”_ Thorin moved then, curious to his words.

            “I’m not forcing you, and it was, honestly, a joke,” the adventurer said calmly. He felt his chest tighten- was Bilbo _really_ going to touch him? Was he going to admit something? “I’m a comfortable man, and I feel quite comfortable with you, and that isn’t a goad. I mean it. I’m at ease. I don’t let just _anyone_ touch my back.”

            “Why?”

            “Mmm, I never actually told anyone this,” he glanced to him, his face masking the pain, but the writer could see it in the way his eyebrows frowned, the way his eyes were shadowed by long lashes. “A few times as a young lad, for being reckless, I was beat over with a belt. A good whooping for a foolhardy mistake. It was good, to my father, growing children strong, sort of thing. When my brother and sister were born, I bore most of their punishment. My mother left him, he sort of went a bit… nuts, but oddly, he became sort of like a hermit. To think, he’s running a business that once held so much life.” He shook his head. “Anyway… Belt lashes over the back.”

            “That’s inhumane, Thorin,” Bilbo outright frowned.

            “I was a boy, and I was defending my siblings. He tried to turn a belt out on Fili,” Thorin chuckled. “I slapped him with that belt across the face and asked 'how did he like it.'” He cleared his throat proudly- “We obviously don’t get on well.”

            “And here I thought I had a hard time without _having_ a father,” Thorin turned a bit more and held Bilbo’s face up by the chin, stroking a soft cheek.

            “I’m sure your father misses you too,” Bilbo took a gulp. A breath. “So my back is sort of an off limits sort of thing. I mean, sure during sex or embraces, whatever, I wouldn't notice, but a massage, you being able to touch and I feel alright? Calm even, I enjoy them… I haven’t had someone I completely trust touch my back since my mom, or my sister.” The writer wiggled a bit and scooted closer, his hand fell to the middle of his back and stroked his spine- finally noticing something he hadn’t before.

            A scar. A scar _long_ since healed and finally dark again- “That is a belt.” Bilbo gasped and pressed a hand to it. “So, when I say I feel comfortable, I mean it. Imagine, animals most sensitive area is there stomach, when they surrender, they show their stomach…” Bilbo nodded. “I happen to show my back.”

            “Oh, now you’re just _begging_ for the shorts to come off, Mister Thorin,” they both chuckled, though Bilbo felt he was more _giggling_ than actually laughing.

            “As I said, if it’s you, I’m alright,” Bilbo hesitated and glanced down then-

            “I think I’ll wait,” Thorin chuckled a bit. His hand reached and gave a pat to that… pert… arse of Thorin’s. “Oh it’s moves. Why do you have such a great body?” Bilbo growled with mild jealousy and Thorin chuckled.

            “I could say the same,”

            “I don’t have a great body,”

            “It doesn’t matter,” Thorin gave him a once over. “I like it, and you should think it’s great too.”

            “Now you’re just trying to get _my clothes_ to come off,” Bilbo moved to lay down again, propping his head up with his hand. “And we both know I will not.”

            “A shame,” Thorin chided. “Truly. I thought you would feel comfortable in my presence.” And Bilbo let his eyes linger on Thorin’s backside for a moment longer and then tugged the hem of his shorts down _just_  a bit, two little indents from muscle definition just about the end of his tailbone and the…

            The…s-sweep of… “Satisfied?” Thorin chimed and Bilbo turned away, burying his head into a pillow, arms over his head. “I feel more at ease with you, than any other person, Bilbo.” Slowly those eyes began to peak over his shoulders, began to shimmer. “More than _any_ one.” Bilbo rolled to his back then, listening to the wild animals cooing and calling in the night, to the adventurer turning the pages and jotting down a few things. “May I blow out the lantern?” Bilbo nodded and Thorin strained to snuff it before he curled against the pillow again with his face. “Something is bothering you.”

            “You aren’t comfortable with your back exposed…” Bilbo murmured, his hands moving to fidget with the end of his tank top. “I-I thought… maybe… if… if you wanted,… you could um… well… you could… rest on me this time. A-And I’ll… I’ll hold you.” Thorin could see how hard this was for the writer to admit, to even _think_ of mentioning. And he knew the tenderness behind it, so the adventurer didn’t even hesitate.

            He scooted close and rested his head upon Bilbo’s abdomen, the softest part of the writer’s body, he thought contently. He pressed his nose against the thin cloth, gave a long and loud inhale before shuffling his head to get a comfortable spot.

            “No one else I’d rather have,” Thorin whispered, muffled against the writer’s stomach- Bilbo had to strain to hear it too. But he let his arms loosely drape over Thorin’s shoulders, one continued to stroke at his good shoulder until Thorin was fast asleep.

            They had been stuck under the rain for a week, but finally, after a week’s time it began to clear. Thorin’s shoulder slowly had begun to heal together, though it was still quite sore and easy for Thorin to overwork. Thorin plotted about _where_ they should have been, and scouted a bit with Bilbo, who came along to make sure Thorin was alright. The adventurer assured he was fine, but Bilbo would gently squeeze close to Thorin’s wound to make him grunt and comply. They came to a large sandy and leafy bank, fairly steep overlooking a large stream not too far from their spot. The area was filled with all sort of berries and wild vegetables. “We’re here.”

            “Here, where?” Bilbo asked.

            “For the tortoises,” Thorin looked to the sky, still a bit overcast. “We might be too late to see them.”

            “Really? But…” Bilbo looked around feeling as defeated as he expected Thorin was feeling. He sighed and Thorin laughed, reaching for Bilbo’s shoulder and tugging the writer close.

            “If we are, I can live with that,” he looked down to Bilbo who’s cheeks began to color. “There are other wondrous things to see here.” Thorin smiled and slowly went down the plateau, waiting for Bilbo to follow after. It was easy for Bilbo to remember the site where Thorin had said the tortoises would come too. In fact, any moment he could snag a chance, he would go there, and wait, even began to write there. Thorin would often come to him to bring him in for dinner.

            The adventurer could see how disappointed the writer had become, one of their last days at the camp. It had been nearly three weeks since his fall and he was able to carry his bag, if a few pounds lighter than before. Bilbo had fastened a new strap to it, that would go across Thorin’s chest and rest on his right shoulder until his left had healed completely. Thorin was standing above Bilbo who sighed as he finished chapter ten. “You look so disappointed, Bilbo.”

            “It’s a giant tortoise, Thorin,” he sighed. “Of _course_ I’m disappointed.” Thorin chuckled, and Bilbo looked up, questioning Thorin but instead received a kiss to his forehead. “W-What was that for?”

            “For being cute,” he chided. “There are many other wonders to see. Come, it’s time for dinner.” Bilbo heaved a sigh but followed the adventurer back.

            The following morning Bilbo decided he would check that little sandy plateau one last time and then just let it go. He wanted to go before any of the others woke- it had been a sort of guilty thing, slinking off in hopeful waiting. He found Thorin’s camera, snatched his own machete and quietly tiptoed off. He sat in his usual spot, waiting, a small torch to light his area. Nothing. When the sun began to peak through the green canopy, Bilbo had bowed his head in utter defeat—there was not tortoise coming. Just as he stood, he saw something, the dirt was moving.

            The sand! Bilbo grew frightful for a moment, watching the sand sink and seize like it was boiling- until the very first thing sprung from it.

            A tortoise. A _baby_ tortoise. Then… another… several began to spring from the earth, all travelling in different directions, a few heading to the stream, but quickly turning around from it. He couldn’t leave- he couldn’t call Thorin or Fili or Kili. Maker, he was trembling as little tortoises began to shuffle towards him, no noise, just the soft steps they made against the damp forest floor. So. He got down on his knees, then, onto his elbows…

            And began to snap as many photos as possible. Several little tortoises headed straight towards him, one stopped to eat a bug and Bilbo snapped a photo- Maker if they could just _see_ this moment!

            When Thorin woke, he was cooler than usual, and… Bilbo was not below. He was not in their tent either. In fact, he wasn’t in camp. Thorin sighed, he had probably gone to visit that site for the tortoises, just one more time. Fili and Kili soon came and asked where Bilbo was. The three of them dressed to head for the tortoises.

            Sharp blue gray eyes spotted Bilbo kneeling down at something- holding _his_ camera. “Bilbo, what are yo—“

            “Don’t move!” The three Durin men all froze and Bilbo carefully stood, skipping from spot to spot as if playing a game. “You know why we didn’t see any big tortoises Thorin?” The man sighed-

            “For egg laying, I suppose, but better, why do you have my camera, I bought you—“

            “They’re _hatching!”_

            “Righ—Hatching?!” Thorin called and gave Bilbo a jostle and Bilbo pointed to the ground. There, there behind Bilbo were little tortoises making the long trek into the jungle and hoping to survive. Fili and Kili were instantly aware of their feet, bowing down and chasing a few of them, picking them up and feeding them a bug if they saw one- Thorin stood still for several long minutes before Bilbo began to guide Thorin to the sandy plateau, where tortoises were still popping out of the sand.

            “I thought, one more day, I’d come in the morning then, return,” Bilbo murmured. “Just as I went to leave, the sands began to shake and quiver- and out sprung these little babies.” Thorin and Bilbo were surrounded by little tortoises rushing past them. “I took your camera, just in case something amazing came, at least you’d have… a sort of good image.” Bilbo fidgeted with the huge camera, before handing it back to Thorin. “I… I hope you’re not mad, I didn’t mean to take it… I just… hoped to see something.”

            “I am not mad,” Thorin murmured, playing with the camera, then looking to Bilbo who met his gaze with hesitant trembling eyes. Thorin groaned and cupped his cheek, letting his hand slide down to his neck and yank the writer closer- their lips clashing together for a kiss. Bilbo moaned for the kiss and the hand rubbing his neck and squeezing softly at his nape. Thorin drew back smirking, and Bilbo touched at his own lips, mewling, shocked.

            “W-What was that for?”

            “I was wooed,” Thorin glanced back. “You waited here, thinking to see something I had given up on. And that you thought of me for it…” he saw a little tortoise rushing to his boot and trying to climb on it- then it bit onto a shoelace. Thorin plucked the little tortoise up, he was sure if they could make noises, it would have squeaked. “You are like these little tortoises.”

            “What, soft, young and defenseless?”

            “Sweet, precious, and such an important part of life, they don’t even know it,” he set the little tortoise back down to which it found a particularly attractive flower petal and began to munch happily upon it. Thorin turned back to the writer who was clearly thrown, eyes blown and cheeks tinged red. “Thank you for capturing them for me. I am eager to see what my lessons have done for you.” He reached for Bilbo’s neck again and brought the writer against him for another kiss. Thorin was pleased when Bilbo’s fingers responded, sliding up his chest and lacing around his neck.

            If Bilbo was responding _so well_ to such kisses, to his touches now, perhaps…

            Perhaps Bilbo and he were closer than he had previously thought.

            They packed their camp and disassembled their makeshift waterproof canopy to the ground below. Thorin said they should head east now, and eventually they would come out of the rainforest to a large bustling city and then through natural flower meadows, and then onto one of their last destinations. He hoped to make it by early spring, as their festivals were something to behold.

            Bilbo was looking forward to civilization, Thorin knew. The writer didn’t voice it at all now, but he could see how the writer wanted to see other people, how much he wanted to blend into the world again. How nice a chair would be, or a table for eating.

            Bilbo was onto chapter 11 and eager to show Thorin every little bit. When they came to a river too great to cross, Thorin decided they should hold up there for the night, so that he could figure out which river this was, and see if they could move up and find an easier way across. Bilbo was writing after they had set up camp, and Thorin came to sit beside him with his camera, checking a few of the strips of film, eyeing them in the dimming light of day. “Took some good photos.” He commented which the writer paused and turned. “Of the tortoises.” He moved to show Bilbo, resting his face alongside Bilbo’s, holding up a slide of film to the writer. “Here.” He pointed to one, a tortoise had been _right_ before the lens, mouth open. “Did you let a tortoise chew my camera?” he chuckled and Bilbo giggled too, not minding at _all_ Thorin was resting his head against his shoulder.

            An odd thing. Intimacy had been limited to an embrace, or at night between the covers of their tent. A cuddle session- but anything beyond their kisses, was usually off limits, was an unspoken rule. It wasn’t even a rule, really, thought Thorin, _more like we’re friends._ He sighed and drew them down, and took out a few more, raising them up- “Oh, these are from the cave.” Bilbo gasped then, and Thorin tucked his chin at his shoulder again. “Ah, here, you took my camera.”

            “T-Those are completely ugly,” Bilbo argued then, lowering his eyes and tipping his head down slightly. He felt lips press at his ear, felt a nose nuzzle against his head and he shivered.

            “Well, this one of me looks good,” he snorted. “Best picture, I’ve ever seen.” He joked and Bilbo elbowed him, but they stayed resting together like this, Thorin with his chest pressed against Bilbo’s back, sharing in photos. That’s when splashing drew both their eyes- across the river, there was a family of… of…

            “Um what _are_ those?” Bilbo pointed quietly.

            “Capybara,” Thorin lowered his film then, whispering to Bilbo. “It’s a big rat.”

            “S-Shut up,” Bilbo squeaked and looked to Thorin, their noses bumping. Thorin drew away a bit, having gone cross eyed for a second.

            “Seriously, it’s a very large rodent, or in the rodent family,” They turned back and saw the capybara slowly dip into the river, a few others following after. “Think of a giant guinea pig.” Thorin raised his camera, using Bilbo as a stand, to capture a few shots of them. They came to the other side, shook off, and watched Thorin and Bilbo cautiously, before darting into the brush. “My you’re a good camera stand.” Thorin teased and Bilbo huffed at him turning around to glare though it was muted.

            Then Bilbo did something he usually didn’t. He leaned forward for a kiss, chaste at first, before teeth and tongue came in to play. Thorin still had his eyes closed when Bilbo drew back. He licked his lips and opened his eyes to gaze at the writer- “You’re getting bold.”

            “S-Should I not?”

            “Oh no, please,” he purred against his ear again, wrapping his free arm around the writer’s waist to pull him close again, chin at his shoulder. “I’m enjoying seeing all your sides.” He gave that waist a squeeze, felt Bilbo puff at him.

            “That’s my fat, you know what _that side_ looks like,”

            “Well maybe I like it,” he countered, which oddly had the writer piping down, his embarrassment getting the better of him. They didn’t part from one another for the evening, and even when they collapsed into their beds Bilbo on his back so Thorin could use his stomach as a pillow, they were close. Their hands caressed whatever was before them- and Thorin hadn’t felt so connected to the writer before, physically.

            The following week had Thorin grouchy- he had spotted animal tracks to a small cat- with kittens. He had tried to track them for a good few days, but it was pointless. Wherever the cats had gone, they took their tracks too. Bilbo was content though, he’d seen so much and he could hardly forget the tortoises that had hatched a few weeks back- when they came upon large beautiful rainbow colored birds…

            Well. Bilbo was leaning up to Thorin for another kiss. It wasn’t Thorin didn’t _want_ the kisses, in fact, he enjoyed them all. It was the fact they became repetitive. It was the fact that they were chaste, harmless things- Bilbo was wooed. He had thought explaining he didn’t want to give in to _all_ the little kisses and wooing moments before- when Thorin found a dropped feather, gorgeous blue and passed it off to Bilbo, he asked for a kiss.

            The adventurer allowed it- and Thorin moved him away from the prying eyes of his nephews, guided Bilbo back against a smooth tree and kissed him. He stood closer than usual- those chaste little kisses _were_ truly harmful, he thought, they were teasing and delectable. And Thorin wanted more. His hands cupped that flushed face, let them roam down a neck and shoulders. Bilbo squeaked at the exploration but clung to Thorin, his hands pressing against his chest, running downwards towards his hips where they clenched into shirt and waist. When they broke apart, both were more red than before, shorter of breath, and Bilbo almost looked…

            Scared. His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open in equal parts shock and pleasure. They gazed at Thorin and the adventurer took a breath, let it out. “Got me riled pecking me all week.” He teased and Bilbo fell lax then, smiled, I can’t help it, he had said. Thorin thought that the writer _knew_ he was being coy, being a tease.

            When they arrived to another field of tall grasses and open areas, Thorin was aware they were crossing into larger _animal_ territory. He held them at the edge for a few hours, letting his eyes and ears roam the fields before taking them through. They were lucky enough to come to a large hillside that could look down upon the field, but he decided someone needed to be on watch the whole night. He deviated out the sleeping schedules after they ate dinner. Early morning would be when the large animals would come through, so Thorin took the last watch.

            Thorin was smoking, reading over what Bilbo had written when he heard it- the gentle grumbles of speech, of animals. His eyes searched but nothing until…

            Slowly from beyond the forest white tusks appeared, followed by gray trunks. Elephants. His heart pounded with seeing them- the matriarch at the head as she cried to her family. Thorin quickly went to wake the others, he hadn’t actually expected to see any animals, elephants weren’t harmless, but they were the ones to worry less for. He rose Bilbo first, then his nephews who stumbled out and gasped. When Bilbo struggled out of bed, he was stretching still, yawning.

            “Tho’een,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes- “Wha’ ees—“and the horn-blowing sound of an elephant startled him still. Bilbo’s eyes took in the sight of the large grayish mammals crossing through the fields to the large pool of water down below for drink. His chest was tight and he found himself standing by Thorin who snapped a few photos and stared down to the writer happily. “Maker… Thorin…”

            “Big aren’t they?” He chuckled, and Fili was the one to point out a baby, Kili pointing out another young elephant delving his whole face into the water to drink. They stayed for most of the afternoon, lounging about and eating, drinking, playing in the lake before the family of elephants decided to move on. Thorin was content to stay another night, since it was midday and they would not find a better place to stay again until it was too dark.

            Thorin took Bilbo out to hunt that day by the lake as it attracted many animals to it, particularly antelope. Bilbo was impressed with Thorin’s hunting- he was far quieter, more concentrated than his nephews. He was careful, articulate in his movements and Bilbo’s. They even were allowed to watch a few wild canine’s come to drink, a type of wolf, Thorin had said, though it looked more like a long-legged fox with its color and snout. Thorin showed Bilbo how to remain quiet, easing the brush aside to move closer, aware of the surroundings, not just above you, but below. Thorin showed Bilbo how to draw his bow back and keep it steady- Bilbo thought he would miss having Thorin behind him.

            Having that mouth so close to his ear. He let the arrow loose and Thorin congratulated him with a peck. Thorin rose and ended the deer’s life with his eyes closed.

            “Do you pray for them?”

            “I thank them,” Thorin murmured. “Even if it means little to them. Or me. I thank them for being here all the same.” Bilbo wasn’t sure what to think about that, Thorin wasn’t a religious sort, admitting that seemed… strange. “It’s sort of habit- the natives always worship the land they live on, thank the _spirits_ , whatever they may be, for providing.” He gave a loose shrug as he drew the arrow from the deer’s neck. “I… sort of share that philosophy- herbivores are the only diet for carnivorous animals, humans included.” He rose the animal up and over his shoulder. “Even the wild and often dumb turkeys deserve a thanks.” Bilbo finally laughed and before they made it to camp, begged Thorin for a kiss- soft, tender, before darting away almost… _playfully._ Thorin felt his body _flush_ with heat when Bilbo glanced over his shoulder mercifully with a wink—

            Maker, these teases… needed to end.

            When Thorin showed Bilbo he had whittled a little tortoise for him, the writer swooned against Thorin, asked for another kiss, and Thorin stiffened. “It isn’t a chaste one, is it?” he asked, though remaining playful and light. Bilbo… blinked for a moment, the question catching him off balance.

            “I suppose it would have been,” he blushed then, looking to the little tortoise carving in his hand.

            “I want you to be wooed when I give in for a kiss, dear writer,” Thorin admitted softly and those eyes raised, glowing bright hazels and yellow greens from the firelight. “Might I give in?” Bilbo swallowed and nodded as Thorin captured his lips- as his hands… stroked down his arms and back, Bilbo whimpered and moved in, moved closer.

            Bilbo did not think the kiss should matter, honestly. These sort of passionate kisses were amazing too, just as breathless, but… but Bilbo was always the sort to worry. To fester over certain things. Thorin had lashed out upon him before about chaste kisses…

            Did he not… _feel_ something more for Bilbo?

_Tis a game…_ the words drifted past Bilbo’s ear as if he’d heard them again. Their kiss ended smoothly and Thorin grinned, but went back to smoking again, to whittling whatever it was he was whittling. Bilbo had his journal in his lap, but he didn’t feel much like writing then. Thorin was craving contact, was craving passion, heated moments…

            Had Bilbo misread something?

_Or is it truly, just a game?_

            Had Bilbo… been playing it _wrong?_


	21. Time and Time Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught, rifled with confusion and frustration, but pining for something that cannot be had. Or is it simply that one does not wish to take it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been a billion years, I've been busy with a little thing called life, but life seems a bit boring without a good story, right? I shall be returning to this lovely thing, and would enjoy reading your comments about where the chapters went- I'm going over the next few, but have no fear, I do remember where I was taking this story!
> 
> Yummy delights for you, and maybe a bit tear-jerking!

**Chapter 21: Time and Time Again**

 

            They moved out of the plains of the rainforest and back into the midst of trees and jungle. It was an easy trek once Thorin had deciphered how often the larger mammals came to drink, and when they would be least _interested_ in the four men travelling past their caravan of babes. They left late morning, trotting down the hilly plainside to enter the brush of the forest again.

            Thorin wondered how long it would be until something would spark between himself and the writer- every kiss Bilbo asked for was a death wish for Thorin, and yet he had died many times to taste what was not his to have.

            And he thought he might _not_ have given in, knowing the feelings tugging at his heart, but each time the writer leaned up for a peck, it became that much _harder_ to remember _what_ they were doing. ‘Twas a game- _was?_ Thorin paused at the riverbed, holding his pack over his good shoulder, stunned. When did this game… end?

            Where did _they_ begin? It was Fili that gave a gentle knock to his Uncle’s arm, catching his attention- you think we could wade across, he had asked. Oh, yes, thinking, shouldn’t do it, Thorin chided himself. “Most likely.” He surveyed down, but found it became too rocky and rapid for his likes. He looked up and moved around a bit before settling on moving them up the river.

            By early evening they came to a part shallow enough for them to cross, and Thorin made them set camp there for the night.

            “Couldn’t we just go across now?” Bilbo had asked, setting his pack down and stretching before helping Thorin out of his pack.

            “I wouldn’t risk not seeing where we’re placing our feet,” Thorin chuckled, sitting to the dirt with a grunt and a rub to his still fragile shoulder. “Especially during night. Not that the weather isn’t nice enough to lay about bare as babes, I’d rather not leave cold clothes out. Best to dry them in the sun.” Thorin smirked as Bilbo’s cheeks lit at the comment. “Though, unless you desire to be—“

            “N-No!” Bilbo stammered and turned quickly, moving to draw their tent from Thorin’s bag. Thorin shuffled to stand, brushing his legs off of collected dirt and helped the writer set their tent up. Ever since Thorin had asked Bilbo if he could give in, if their kisses could stop this chaste format, the writer had become…

            Snippy. Not quite flustered enough to shout at Thorin, but enough for him to see something was troubling the writer. Perhaps he was unsure of what Thorin was doing? He was unsure, he knew that, he’d be about as flummoxed and irritated with himself too…

            In fact, he _was_ but Thorin wasn’t thinking upon himself. “Is the waterfall nearby?” Bilbo asked after their tent was set up, Thorin was rubbing his shoulder with a wince. He hadn’t been careful enough while helping set the tent, his arm felt sore- “Does it hurt?” A hand was timid when it came and touched his bared arm and Thorin turned with lidded eyes. “I could make a tonic for you, to h-help with the pain… I should have really gotten one of the boys to help me pitch the tent.”

            “I’ll live, Master Baggins,” he smiled and reached out with his arm then, hissed at the pain and took a deep soothing breath before lowering it. “I think I just overused it today.” Bilbo encouraged him to sit back down, and he settled their things and made their beds for Thorin, Fili and Kili moved to start a fire and dinner. “We are close to the waterfall.” He added when Bilbo returned to him, settling down with his herb pouch. He made a nasty looking concoction that had Thorin questioning the writer. “Is this _really_ safe?” He teased, taking a whiff and groaning.

            “It’s not _supposed_ to smell or taste good, if we were at my house, sure I’d throw in some good taste,” he shrugged, but Thorin downed it with a sneer, hissing at the stinging sensation as it went down. “That should help with the ache. You should get something cold on it.”

            “Like we have anything,” Bilbo was fussing and Thorin reached out- “I am fine, Bilbo.” The writer gave a sigh, but nodded to Thorin.

            “You should lighten your pack then, so your other shoulder can hack through the forest,”

            “You’re fussing,” he chided and slowly rose offering his hand, to the bad shoulder, to Bilbo. “Stop.” Bilbo glared a bit, but did take his hand, realizing he’d taken the bad hand _after_ he had stood. “I much rather enjoy a friendly writer, than a wee medic ushering me about like I’m dying.”

            “You could have,” Bilbo retorted- and Thorin shook his head- another thing Bilbo had become. Argumentative, over silly things.

            “I did not because I had a great doctor and a hot nurse, now, please,” he gave a shake to the writer. “Stop being my mother and be my friend.” Bilbo opened his mouth but their eyes met and…

            His lips pursed together. Thorin moved to his bag and drew out a set of spare clothes. “Come for a bath?” Bilbo’s cheeks inflamed, but he did fetch his things, did follow Thorin to the river which was warm. Thorin was not sure what had gotten into the writer, or if perhaps he was the one that was causing such ruckus. Thorin reached the river bank, settling to warm sand and drawing his boots off, then his socks and shirt. He was in his smalls by the time he heard Bilbo come and stand behind him, watching. “Something you like?” Thorin quirked, letting his hair down and groaning. “Curly demons.” He whacked at a few strands that covered his eyes, before holding his hair back.

            Bilbo was another shade of red, and Thorin would not press his luck, not until he poked around to see what was causing the writer distress. Thorin stepped in, humming and dipping his hair back, slicking it so that he would not have to meddle with it as much. Thorin let his eyes wander to the writer who took a very long time undressing and then, an even longer amount of time coming into the water itself. “At least it’s still warm.”

            “There aren’t… any fish or anything that’s going to bite me, is there?”

            “I’m the only thing in here with teeth,” Thorin smirked, wringing his hair out and chuckling as the writer puffed and tried to avoid glancing to Thorin. Those eyes would flit over his shoulder guiltily, looking over the adventurer, watching the water tangle in his chest hair before it would fall back to the river. Thorin waded to the shore for soap and lathered his hair up before he felt eyes- felt Bilbo watching. He didn’t bother to tell the writer he had been caught, he’d only do it later, but he did make good work of flexing and stretching a _bit more_ than usual.

            Just to catch those tiny gasps, the splash of an arm falling or drawing up to cover his mouth. Thorin held the soap for a moment, then turned to Bilbo. “Turn about.”

            “What?”            

            “Turn about, you heard me,” Thorin wiggled his finger, and tentatively the writer did so. Thorin tipped a curly head back, stringing fingers into the curls, straightening them out in the water before he began to massage the soap into a greasy mop of hair. Bilbo let his eyes close, humming contently as Thorin washed his hair and dipped him back to clear it. Thorin didn’t have intentions of stopping there though. He pressed the soap to Bilbo’s neck- “May I?” The writer peeped and could only nod in response- tense. Thorin lathered the bar into his hands and cleaned sweat from his pores, cleaned any dirt or grime that had collected over the last few days. He was given a very clear reminder of their time at the Lake, just after the Mills, and chuckled.

            How far they had come together. He was still careful, still mindful of Bilbo’s more sensitive spots, that fact alone made Thorin grateful that Bilbo was facing away from the adventurer. His hands began to slide down his back, and his thumbs found a tailbone first and Bilbo squirmed away-

            “T-Thorin,” Bilbo chided, though there was a blush, a tiny shy smile on his lips. “You’ve already washed, i-it’s hardly fair.”

            “I wouldn’t mind a second,” he chuckled and Bilbo shook his head and Thorin took a step forward, raising Bilbo’s head- “Or you could let me wash the front?” He drawled and Bilbo stilled, a breath shook as it left his lips, biting them at the question. At the insinuation. “I will not let them wander inappropriately.”

            “I-Isn’t them _washing_ my body a bit inappropriate?” the writer finally squeaked out and this had Thorin freezing, eyeing him carefully, worried.

            “I suppose,” Thorin didn’t move, but neither did the writer. “I shan’t then, since it bothers you.” Thorin offered the bar of soap instead to Bilbo- “It was just a tease. Nothing to fret over.” He smiled and when the writer took the bar Thorin stretched again and sunk down into the water, letting his hair ripple out- he was pleased for the bath, he could let his hair down and not have it be a tiny curly mess. The writer wasn’t making any noise now... eventually Thorin eyed him again. “I’ve done something to upset you.”

            “You always,” Bilbo started then, frowned. “You always like to tease me.” That sounded a bit… accusing.

            “I enjoy laughing, though, I didn’t mean to offend,” Thorin straightened a bit. “I’ve never meant to make it seem like I’m laughing at you, and if I have—“

            “Am I that enjoyable?” Bilbo raised his eyes to Thorin’s then, still holding the soap as if he’d just been given it. “You tease, and little else.”

            “I’m a wary sort,” Thorin was treading carefully. He felt like a hundred traps had been laid about and he needed not to trigger any of them to pass. “Though, I forget my place with you.” Thorin licked his lips, looking down the river. “I forget a lot around you, and that’s rare of me. The world shrinks to us, and whatever fun we’re having.” He leaned back and exhaled loudly, letting his eyes shut. “If I’ve upset you, I’d like to make amends.”

            “What if you can’t apologize your way out of it?”

            “Then I would do my best to change what I have disturbed, are we talking hypothetically or not?” Thorin finally let his arms fold. “I feel I am on trial and know not what I have done wrong. Have I done something offensive?” Thorin was before the writer before he even realized he had straightened. “I would correct my behavior.”

            “No! Oh, Thorin! I just…” the writer fumbled and then, pressed the soap against Thorin clumsily, nearly dropping it a few times. “I… I didn’t mean, Maker you get so defensive.” Thorin’s brows came together and Bilbo found himself under the scrutiny of fierce steel blue eyes. “I… you just tease and sometimes I wonder if you are being serious or not. I’m… I still have a lot to learn about how you act, it’s hard to read you, you know.” Thorin bowed his head then.

            “I have tried to open up,”

            “And! And I’ve seen so much more, I… was just,” Bilbo let _his_ head bow then, exasperated. “I’ve just been thinking the last couple of days. You’ve seemed more playful or teasing, and I… only wondered do you mean all this silliness. I mean, after this trip is over…” Bilbo rubbed his arm. “Can I expect more than a letter from you?”

            “You think we live worlds apart,” Thorin chuckled and let a finger curl under Bilbo’s chin to raise those trembling hazel eyes. “Lucky for you we are not in our book, and _I_ am quite human too.” He saw his throat bob with a gulp and his eyes found the soap. “Am I allowed to wash the front then?” Bilbo’s eyes widened and he quickly tried to snatch the soap away but Thorin merely held it above his head.

            “Oh, Maker, Thorin that is not fair, you’re too tall!” Thorin grinned though down at Bilbo-

            “Aww, is the wee burglar too short?”

            “I’ll thieve something from you, and you’ll be so angry with me,” Bilbo huffed and leapt but still could not reach, relenting to the adventurer. “Using your height, should I knock on your shoulder to win?”

            “It would be even,”

            “But you know I wouldn’t do that,” Bilbo tutted.

            “Did I? I’d have knocked you down without question,” Thorin lowered his arm and offered the bar of soap. “Seeing you pout is about as cute as seeing you blush, so I’ll let you win this round.” Bilbo was _flabbergasted._ His jaw hung open like a fly trap. “Close that mouth, you might catch a fish!” Thorin helped to close it and felt at his jaw- “You shave?”

            “What?” and Bilbo felt at his cheek and sighed.

            “I didn’t even know that could happen,” Thorin’s brows were high.

            “Of course it happens, mine is truly blonde, so I don’t fuss much,” Bilbo replied rubbing his cheek softly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” But Thorin ran a thumb along his jaw, feeling the lengthy stubble under the pad of his thumb- it was a delight. Sure, every once in a while he’d feel the shadow of facial hair against his hand, but it wasn’t like he _often_ gripped Bilbo’s face. And when he did, well, he had other things on his mind.

            “You just became a bit more rugged,” he chuckled, dropping his hand. “Just a surprise.” He rubbed his own jaw- “Never noticed until right now, that’s all.”

            “You’re cowed,”

            “I’m not _cowed,_ I’m surprised,” Thorin huffed.

            “You like it~” Bilbo waved the soap at him. “You thought, all this time, little old me was just a cute podgy thing, didn’t you?”

            “No! Well a bit, but not because you didn’t grow hair,” Thorin began to grin despite himself and pinched a flushed cheek. “I see you in a different light now.”

            “Oh? Over facial hair?”

            “It’s a nice touch,” he chewed his lip then, lowered his gaze... before raising them again, lidded- he could see the breath leave Bilbo, see his chest clench tightly. It was a look that Thorin knew made the writer tremble and excited. “You could say I’m wooed by your… handsomeness, that it adds to it.” Bilbo’s mouth fell open again and averted his eyes, beginning to quiver. “Cold?”

            “H-Hardly,” Bilbo snapped, but his eyes returned to Thorin’s, rubbing at his cheek. “I didn’t bring my razor.”

            “You have a _razor_ to _shave_ wit—Master Baggins what exactly _didn’t_ you bring from home?” Thorin chided as he waded back to the shore with a shake. It was easy to _forget_ their tension when they fell so _easily_ back into teases. When they spent time together, just _them_ , just away from the world it seemed that they were perfect,…

_Perfect together._ What… what a thought. Thorin drew out a small and sharp blade and Bilbo’s eyes caught the silver gleam.

            “You’re telling me you shave… with a _sword?”_ Bilbo questioned with a gulp.

            “It’s hardly a sword, but yes, a knife,” he chuckled. “I certainly didn’t bring my whole shaving kit with fresh blades and cream for the face. Though I suspect if I wanted the royal treatment all I had to do was ask you.” Bilbo’s cheeks flushed and he lowered his eyes. Thorin asked for the soap and pressed it to Bilbo’s cheeks, and then handed it back to him- “You won’t let me wash you, so, come. I’ll shave you.”

            “With a _knife?!”_ Thorin tugged him back with a laugh.

            “So it’s a knife and not the square razor you’re used to,” he stroked his own beard. “I trim all the time.”

            “R-Really,” Bilbo seemed to _doubt_ such reasoning but, took a breath and held it, shutting his eyes tight. “F-Fine. But I swear, Thorin Durin, if you cut me-“

            “I will not,” he murmured. “Trust me.” The blade came to his cheek and slid down easily leaving a clean sweep of skin. Then a second time, then a third. Bilbo found himself relaxing under the blade’s sharp edge, nimble and strong fingers careful in their sweeps and strokes, even around his upper lip and chin. Thorin gave one last sweep of the blade along his jaw, his thumb tracing over it. “Alright, smooth as a babe again.” He wiped his knife off in the water and Bilbo felt at his cheeks.

            “It’s so close,”

            “Sharp blade—shit!” _sharp_ indeed. Thorin had sliced his thumb open. With a groan, he drew it up from the water, hissing. “Told you you could trust me.”

            “Thorin!” They both waded back to the shore and Bilbo sat Thorin down, but Thorin just wrapped his thumb about his dirtied shirt, chuckling. “You alright?”

            “I’m fine,” Bilbo looked to his finger disbelieving. “It’s a wee slice, I’m fine, I swear.”

            “Maker, Thorin,” Bilbo sat back a bit- “Are you always so clumsy?”

            “When I see a finely shaven gent, sure,” Bilbo gaped- and slapped Thorin’s knee.

            “I know what you were doing, don’t think for a second those ‘come bathe with me’ looks really weren’t ‘come hither’ looks, Mister Durin,” Bilbo let his hands fall to his hips. “I’ll have you know I knew of your intentions.”

            “Did you?”

            “And I was not wooed,” Bilbo tutted, nodding his head with justification.

            “I was not planning to,”

            “Exactly-wait what?”

            “I was wooed,” Thorin smirked. “I think I owed _you_ something, you wouldn’t let me pamper you, so I gave you a shave instead.”

            “W-What-“

            “And I didn’t even ask for a single kiss, I think I deserve a little recompense for being such a gentleman,” Bilbo flailed a bit, stammering before he turned his back towards Thorin.

            “J-Just… lewd,”

            “Oh, I think that is a bit harsh,” Thorin laughed- but something about the way the writer said it made Thorin instantly cringe with fear.

            “I think it is well deserved,” Bilbo argued. “You make it hard for me to resist being wooed, and I said I was an easy target too!” However something made him want to draw away at that rebuttal, something made him lower his eyes with shame.

            Was it his own guilt? For stealing such kisses, such innocence from a man who clearly had no intentions of returning such affections? At least, not the way _Thorin_ felt. A silence fell upon them and Thorin leaned back, lips pursed together to keep any jokes from escaping- honestly he also didn’t trust his own voice. “My, did I make the adventurer… speech…less. Thorin?” Bilbo peered over his shoulder, arms dropping. “You…”

            “I suppose I do come off a bit strong,” Thorin quietly admitted. “Part of showing you… my feelings, I guess. Apologies.”

            “Thorin?” But he would not look at him. Bilbo had to kneel beside Thorin for the adventurer to look at him. “You know I was kidding right? I don’t really think you’re… lewd. More, I suppose, I didn’t want to use awful again. It’s worn off, you know.” Bilbo smiled and he saw Thorin try to, but it disappeared far too quickly. They sat there for a long while before Bilbo shivered and Thorin moved to stand.

            “We should return to camp,” he stretched. “Lest you catch a cold.” Thorin shimmied from wet smalls and drew on a pair of clean ones, his back to the writer. He drew up his slacks too, tying them when Bilbo came to stand before him.

            “A-And… and had you done something to... reward me, for wooing you,” Bilbo moved to meet Thorin’s downcast eyes. “What would you have given?”

            “A kiss, as always,” Thorin murmured lowly.

            “And what d-do I need to do, to have one?” Thorin’s brows perked, rising upon his forehead, his eyes widening a fraction. “You shaved me, tried to bathe me, I discouraged all of that playfulness, I should reward you.” Thorin was given a very big decision and he wasn’t prepared for it.

            What side should he show to Bilbo? Should he show his eagerness to repay the writer, douse him in passion and see where he could go with him? Or should he mask that with apathy, feign the gentleman and prince, to woo with but romance and never molest?

            Thorin was not the best person to make decisions. Not at least, when it came to the writer. He would do stupid crazy things for him, like slip down a rock face, carry him through the wilds to find healing… remain at his side when he was with fever. So Thorin didn’t even think it was much of a choice at all.

            His hands reached timidly for the writer’s hips, tickling up cooling skin. A hand caressed his shoulder and the other raised to his neck, tipping his head back as their noses bumped, moving aside for lips to caress. Bilbo was the first to nibble upon lips, and was rewarded with Thorin’s tongue lapping at his, humming as his hands became heavier. The writer was standing so close to Thorin he could feel the heat lifting off his skin, could feel the chills from the cooling air about them. He could feel the tremors in his left shoulder, and Bilbo moaned when that hand slid down his back.

            The writer broke the kiss, pushing a hand to Thorin’s stomach- “I’m still wet.” He murmured- “Y-you want to g-go gripping me, you’ll have to explain why you’re wearing a pair of dirty clothes.” Thorin was just… _looking_ at him, like his gaze was trying pierce through his soul. He had not moved, but he hadn’t moved _forward_ either. Bilbo cleared his throat but Thorin’s eyes only seemed to narrow.

            “I doubt they would notice,” Bilbo drew from Thorin’s reach then, and something flickered over the adventurer Bilbo had never seen before; fear. Thorin moved to pick up his shirt though, flapping it of sand. “T-Though… with how much they like to read into little and unimportant things…” he sighed, though Bilbo could see it was with shaky and nervous energy Thorin spoke. “They would notice. You’re right.” He dusted off his clothes and patted Bilbo’s shoulder- “Dress, or you will catch a cold.”

            Thorin kept his back to the writer, as he wiggled from his smalls and dressed in clean and dry clothes. They returned to camp without a word, though dinner was lively. Fili and Kili darted off to bed not soon after, asking for a bath in the morning, since their Uncle and Writer took _such_ a long time. Thorin’s brows rose, but he said nothing. It was Bilbo that came and sat by him with a pair of shears. “Oh, what do you plan on clipping?”

            “Your hair?” Thorin blinked. “I thought it had gotten a bit long, you seem to hate it when it’s longer too. Or too long.” Thorin was a bit taken aback. “I mean, if you want, I can, if… I…” then Bilbo sighed, and pecked Thorin upon the cheek.

            “What…” Thorin touched his cheek then, stunned. “What was that for?”

            “Making me hard. Now, can I cut your hair or not?” Thorin gaped for air _and_ words.

            “S… sure,” Thorin whispered, he felt otherworldly. Had that step away from Thorin not been enough? He was terrified he’d just grab the writer and…

            And that was the last thing he wanted. He knew he’d never do anything _terribly_ rash, but perhaps, those were the worst. It was one thing to hate and fear someone completely for a good reason, but what about a kiss? What about being too close? Being to needy? Making them feel suffocated?

            Bilbo combed his fingers through Thorin’s hair and it felt oddly like his worries were being draw out with each stroke. Each clip was severing those thoughts and he found himself with his eyes shut and Bilbo scratching at his head to wake him up. “I do believe, scratching behind the ear particularly is a place big cats like.”

            “Oh, I thought we decided you were a bear,” Bilbo’s voice came from above still. “Do big bears like being scratched behind the ears?”

            “Whatever you want to give me, I’ll take,” Bilbo stilled for a mere second before his hands ran down to his sideburns, feeling the slightly stiffer hair of his beard before drawing his fingers behind his ears. “Or I could just, lavish you in attention, whatever.” He chuckled and Bilbo did too-

            “Well, I am dry now,” he murmured- “If you want a hug or something.”

            “I was not going to hug you earlier,” Thorin corrected, turning his face up to Bilbo. “You know that right?” He watched Bilbo nod and gulp then. “You stepped away. That was… wise.” Thorin moved to stand and Bilbo stared up towards him, moving to stand before him again.

            “You’ve wooed me,”

            “Ah, by doing what, exactly, this time?” He chided, arms folding over his chest. “I feel your ideas of being wooed and mine are quite different.” Bilbo floundered a bit but he stood upon his toes, just barely able to reach Thorin’s lips like this.

            “You have a lot of resistance,” Bilbo breathed and gave the softest of kisses to Thorin’s pursed lips. He let a hand slide into his beard slowly and Thorin’s eyes closed, groaning at the contact— _intimate_ contact. “For a game.”

            That’s what this was, Thorin reminded himself. A game, a game that Bilbo upped the stakes to allow for a bit of touching, not… groping, but… doing this, allowing these kisses to deepen, allowing him to be touched himself, Thorin was not sure how long the game would last on peaceful terms. “Can I just be wooed by you? Is there something wrong with me that I can’t just _adore_ you?” Bilbo fell back till his feet were firmly on the ground and Thorin gazed down at him.

            “There isn’t a thing wrong with that,” he offered and Bilbo grinned, leaned up for a kiss, sweet, short.

            But Thorin hooked closer. He startled him and caught the writer off guard, but the writer clung to his shirt to deepen the kiss. They each moaned when their tongues twirled about one another, feeling each other’s strength as soft mewls were gently swallowed. Thorin’s hands washed down the front of Bilbo’s chest, purposely searching for- ah- pert nipples, they were hidden underneath a loose shirt, but easily found by thumbs. Bilbo broke the kiss with a gasp, and Thorin caught his bottom lip between his teeth, sucked upon it before drawing in for a kiss. His tongue coaxed Bilbo’s to come into his mouth to be lavished with attention.

            Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hips, drummed upon them for a moment before he slowed their kiss, before they were but soft pecks and nibbles. Bilbo was scarlet, from ear to ear, eyes scrunched closed but slowly a smile reassured Thorin he had not pressed the writer- at least, he was a very good act if so.

            “M-My… w-word T-Thorin,” Bilbo touched his lips with a shivering hand, stepping from his shadow quickly. “I say a cute thing and you’re all… hands, everywhere. W-When was the last time someone told you something sweet?” Bilbo tried to clear the waver in his voice, but that kiss had been thrilling…

            And a bit nerve-wracking. He wasn’t sure what was going on- a game to tease was one thing, but Thorin wasn’t playing to the rules anymore. A simple touch or caress, to make the other swoon was one thing, gripping and playing with… w-well. Not that the writer didn’t enjoy it.

            “You did,” Thorin smirked, but turned to the fire. “I thought this was a game, you sure you can keep up, Master Baggins? You hardly seem to know where your hands should go.” Maybe deflecting would deter the writer, _Maker_ please push him away. “Do you need, a bit of a helping hand, in that area?” Bilbo was still red, but the comment made him stiffen, and then shake his head.

            “You are awful, Mister Durin,” Bilbo began to march to bed, though he couldn’t help but glance over a few times to the adventurer who retook his seat at the fire.

            “So I’ve been told,” Thorin looked to his bandaged thumb and frowned. “You’ve told me.”

            The following morning Thorin’s shoulder was sore, but he did not let it on immediately, nor outwardly. Fili and Kili had made breakfast and left enough for their Uncle and Writer to have as they went to bathe. By late morning the four of them were packed and wading through the cool water. The water was so clear they could see the fish darting about. Bilbo wanted to take pictures, but Thorin insisted they get across before they lose their things down the river. When they reached the other bank, Thorin had to draw his pack off, rubbing his good shoulder- no he probably _needed_ to lessen the weight, but he had not done so.

            Not to be impressive, not to express his strength, it just hadn’t occurred to him that the three other men with him could carry more- or rather, perhaps he did not _want_ them too. Bilbo was the one to see Thorin rubbing his shoulders, timid fingers tapping at his back.

            “You should let us carry some of that,” Bilbo insisted, a smile on his lips. “Your shoulder won’t get better like that.”

            “I find starting right back into it seems to make it stronger,” but the writer pouted then, brown eyebrows furling together. “Alright, I concede, _mom.”_ He tutted and opened his back for a few things, and Bilbo hefted a few and handed the others off to Fili and Kili.

            Maybe Thorin _was_ surprised that Bilbo and his nephews had hauled his weight without seeming to be very exhausted. Thorin had spotted something within the water, trailing in the back- the others had begun to move forward. But Thorin reached very swiftly- yanking the writer who had his mouth covered before he could complain. “Hush.” Thorin whispered and Bilbo growled. Thorin raised his hand and pointed in the water, a white mound- that had begun to move. Bilbo’s fingers had tried to pry Thorin’s hand from his mouth, but seeing the mound move made him slow, and the hand fell away without aide-

            Except he was still holding it.

            Squeezing it.

            “W-What is it?” Bilbo asked and Thorin began to grin.

            “Mermaids of the sea,” he cooed and Bilbo thumped his chest. “A manatee, silly.” Thorin said against his ear and Bilbo shivered- memories of kisses came to mind first, of each moment Bilbo felt his heart give way to the stoic adventurer. Each more touching and beautiful than the next, and if he made a little moaning sound when Thorin nuzzled his ear, neither had said anything. “Come with me.” He murmured, tugging the writer to a landing of rocks not far behind them that went out close to where the manatees were. Fili and Kili had stopped- realizing they were not being followed, grinning as they finally peered from afar their Writer and Uncle stepping onto rocks into the river to see-

            “Holy! What is that!”Kili had pointed, and Bilbo had much the same reaction when the manatees began to herd closer to them, began to poke their faces from the water for air. Bilbo swooned at the sight, gentle giants of stony gray- they were almost funny looking, had they not been so cute too.

            “C-Can I touch them?” Bilbo asked and Thorin nodded, smirking, perched and using his good hand to keep him balanced on the rocks. He finally let a knee down, shifting, his shoulders and back sore, and Bilbo saw this- “We can move on—“ But Thorin took his hand and extended Bilbo’s reach, held onto the writer as he allowed him to hover a bit. One of the manatees stuck his nose out, padded Bilbo’s hand with his large nose and then sorted water upon it. “Ew…” Bilbo laughed as he placed his hand into the water, stroking the head of the sea mammal. “It’s so… rough, like… I don’t even know. Thorin.” He turned to the adventurer, who with a bit of careful maneuvering of feet, was given a chance to pet the manatee too.

            “That _is_ weird,” Thorin quickly withdrew, letting Bilbo enjoy this moment- and allowing him the view of the writer smiling. This was how he enjoyed the writer the most, when he was awed by beauty and happy, gleefully looking between the manatees and Thorin.

            He would hope that for a moment, Bilbo’s eyes would gleam like that towards him, and they would, just for a fleeting moment before they returned. When the manatees began to swim away, moving onto other places to feed, Thorin turned to the writer who watched them go… their eyes met and Bilbo blushed, chewing his lip shyly, wiggling. “What is it?” Thorin smiled widely, content to watch the writer in his happier states for an eternity then never be gifted a single smile. Bilbo shook his head, tried to start several sentences before he took a large breath and kissed Thorin. The adventurer was struck with surprise, and trembled in his awkward positioning, to which the writer caught his arms, stilled his movements. Bilbo pulled away with a giggle, a blush and stood to leave.

            Thorin stared off at the writer for a moment, touching his lips then, standing stiffly, following after with furrowed brows- did the writer truly _not_ want more? For a while, it seemed that Bilbo had been _inclined_ to a bit of caressing, and yet every day he proved to Thorin that he was content and _fulfilled_ with but chaste kisses. And sure they varied between pecks to long presses, but… Thorin stroked his beard then, rubbing his mouth in hopes to rid himself of feeling tingly. He stumbled a bit and growled but Bilbo had spun, looked at him with a grin- dragging your feet? “There was a branch I didn’t see.”

            “Oh, you admit you weren’t paying attention,” Bilbo flipped about and walked a few paces forward, with Thorin following after. “So what were you thinking about, Mister Durin?”

            “You,” he said it without thought, without realizing really he had said it. He did that a lot now, once, he’d have been so sure of himself, confident he would have thought things through before blurting out stupid things like that. Thorin had once trusted himself to know how to react completely to every situation…

            And the writer took all of that and tossed it aside. Bilbo blinked, stunned eyes looking over his shoulder. Me, he had mocked, curious, still unfazed by that answer.

            “And what were you thinking about?” he finally asked, Bilbo gripping his straps tightly then- anticipating what the answer might be.

            “How I might’ve made that kiss different,” Maker, was he _aiming_ to displease the writer? A dark part of him chimed _yes_ , encouraged pushing the writer away. Encouraged his wrath. Thorin stopped though, glancing off to the river, watching the water progressively getting stronger in its current. “How it seemed so short-lived.”

            Bilbo had heard the adventurer stop, turning to face him to find a most… contemplative look on his features. He was staring out at the river as if he had seen something move again worth his attention. Thorin opened his mouth as if to speak but then, closed it, eyes narrowing in thought before returning his gaze to the writer. “Just…” Thorin took a great breath and held it for several long moments, swallowing thickly and letting it through his nose, smirking a bit darkly. “Just being nostalgic and old. Everything feels all… fleeting.”

            “Now you’re being just outright cryptic, Thorin,” Bilbo murmured and came to stand before Thorin who tensed at the shared space, eyeing him sternly. “I said you were hard to read, once. I said it was getting easier too, but I don’t solve riddles.”

            “No?” Thorin managed a snort, but let his eyes linger on Bilbo’s face, then dropped them sluggishly, taking in the writer’s frame, arms and neck glistened with just a bit of sweat from the heat, shoulders and arms a bit red too, but his skin was becoming tanned, a lush golden color. Thorin’s eyes caught a drop of sweat rolling down his arm and he moved to wiped it away with a finger, noticing chills rush upon Bilbo’s skin. “Thinking too deeply about silly things.”

            “If they were silly, you wouldn’t think of upon them for so long and hard,” Bilbo murmured, aware that Thorin seemed multitudes _hotter_ than the jungle around them. B-But that was impossible- his touch seared against his skin and he wanted another caress. “You could just… tell me. I’m old too, remember? I would understand.” Thorin eyed the writer again, his eyes lifting to meet Bilbo’s and they stared for…

            An impossibly long time before Thorin dropped his gaze, looking elsewhere.

            “I’m not good at conversing, we both know this,” but even as he said it there was a twinkle in Bilbo’s eyes and slowly, Thorin leaned down, hesitant at first until Bilbo met his kiss by standing on his toes. Thorin needed little encouragement to wrap his arms around the writer and tug him closer- Bilbo carried his bag still, so Thorin made do with letting hands running down his sides and playing with his hips.  He squeezed them and Bilbo shivered, wavering in standing. Thorin pressed him to his feet, bending down a bit more to kiss the writer whilst firm on both feet. Bilbo’s hand slowly rolled up his chest, still careful of his shoulder, fingertips tracing feather-lightly.

            But Thorin was not so soft. At the very least, he was feeling frustrated, pining. His thumbs rolled over hipbones and then… dipped just a bit, slipping to press at the flesh joining thigh to pelvis- a moan was his reward, and his punishment was the writer stepping out of his hands and reach, cheeks flushed, renewed sweat dripping down his face and neck.

            “T-Then, then what are you saying?” Bilbo managed, thickly, and out of breath. “If you’re not good at weaving conversation, tell me bluntly.” Bilbo had to grip at his chest, to still a thumping heart- there was _so_ much good with those fingers pressing, and so much _wrong_ too.

            “What am I saying?” Thorin repeated and let his eyes dropped his feet, then raise- “What would you have me say, that would not offend? I’ve…” his chest tightened. “If I’m overstepping all you need to do is say so.”

            “You know that’s not what I’m asking, Thorin,” Bilbo murmured though, his voice becoming deep and serious, a certain resonance to it that had Thorin clenching his hands. “What is this? That?”

            “More?” Thorin replied, and he watched the writer roll around that idea and insinuations for a moment. “More than there should be? What would you have me say, I enjoy it. I do. And sometimes, it’s… hard to not feel these chaste caresses are nothing but teases and come on’s.” Thorin closed their distance and Bilbo tensed, but Thorin cupped Bilbo’s flustered cheek. “Why does it have to have an explanation?” He leaned close and left but a faint kiss upon a hot cheek, and drew from the writer. “Must everything you feel have a definition? Is that the writer inside you, needing to pen down the world and miss _just_ the feeling of it?” Thorin moved past the writer then. “Maybe it’s something amazing, maybe it’s good feelings. Maybe it’s nothing. Why can’t we see where it goes?”

            “Because I like answers,”

            “I don’t have the one you’re looking for,” and Thorin pressed forward, hiding the pain that flourished in his breast, stifling the _pain_ that nearly brought tears to his eyes. Had Thorin but looked over his shoulder…

            He would have seen those feelings mirrored, or close to it. Bilbo was gaping at the words, Thorin didn’t have an answer? What sort of explanation was that, this was his idea! His… game. And as Bilbo strode to match Thorin’s pace, he wondered how much of Thorin’s riddles were part of the game… or if they all rang true to Thorin’s feelings?

            That evening it seemed as though the conversation had not even _happened_ for Thorin was talking in grandeur about the manatees, and Bilbo slapped Thorin.

            “You didn’t get any pictures!” to this, the nephews rose their heads- owling. Their sudden silence had Bilbo squirming. “What?” Bilbo looked over and Thorin ducked his head, feeling a bit of embarrassment color his cheeks.

            “Well, you see, Mister Bilbo, Uncle sort of likes to brag,” Fili started.

            “And he would always brag he could catch nature _just_ the way it was, natural,” Kili giggled.

            “The fact he _didn’t_ take a picture-“

            “-means there must have been something more important Uncle wanted to catch,” it was _deafening_ the silence that followed after, Fili and Kili looking expectantly to their Uncle whom had turned his head away.

            “So Uncle, what were you looking at instead?” Fili beamed and Thorin leveled them with a glare, but he did catch the writer’s eyes, big, staring at him. The adventurer bowed his head again, to the writer this time, biting his lip, as he stood with his pipe, ruffling the writer’s frizzy curls before moving away from the camp. Thorin had his arms tight about his chest as he puffed away, drawing his pipe back and…

            Blew. Blew and made a circle- he nearly wanted to run and tell the writer-

            Except the writer had beat him to it.

            “You made a smoke ring!” Bilbo pointed and Thorin coughed a bit, caught off-guard by Bilbo’s presence. “Impressive, you haven’t tried in a long while.”

            “I suppose, I had more pressing matters to tend too,” Bilbo caught his eyes-

            “And were they things you did not need your camera for?” The writer was starting to grin as he spoke and Thorin turned away, abashed.

            “I also suppose it makes me sound like I’m a creep, gazing too long, unwanted,” Thorin murmured, his voice low and raspy.

            “It’s not unwanted,” blue gray eyes were wide, feeling dry for how wide they’d gone, blinked then, gasping a bit. “Just… What were you trying to capture, then?” His eyes lifted to Thorin, watching the adventurer carefully who seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding.

            “Something…” Thorin began to smirk and turned to face Bilbo, and the writer felt his chest tighten, drifting towards the adventurer. “Something photos just don’t capture quite as good as a memory.” Bilbo’s jaw clenched, gulping and he finally exhaled a squeaking noise and Thorin chuckled. “Something… like this.” He leaned down slowly, his hand tipping Bilbo’s chin up, their lips lighting. He let his tongue tease over those parting lips, sucking in the gasp and…

            Then he ended it. He parted from the writer, drawing his pipe back up, shyly, avoiding his eyes. “Something…” and then, Thorin lowered his eyes, a remorse seemed to come over the adventurer like a cloak- it was cold and surrounded him completely, constricting and tight. “Something that isn’t there.” He tucked the pipe back to his lips and turned, leaving the writer waiting for so much more.

            Bilbo watched Thorin part and hugged himself, eyes blurring-

            “What isn’t there, Thorin?” He bowed his head and followed after.

            The next day they trekked further up the river, Thorin pointing out that they were close and when he made them pause, he asked them all to listen and soon, Fili and Kili were throwing themselves forward to find the waterfall, Thorin and Bilbo laughing as they hurried past. When they came out of the clearing Bilbo stopped, eyeing the sheer _height_ of the waterfall. Those pictures he had seen a month back could _not_ have been this same waterfall. Now he understood what Thorin meant- it was hard to catch such a beauty. “Thorin, you’re a brilliant photographer but…” he leaned against his shoulder with a sigh. “That can’t be tamed by a lens.”

            “Perhaps,” he chuckled and ruffled the curls atop that couldn’t be pulled back into his ponytail. “But I’ll try.” They went and set their things upon the edge, Fili and Kili splashing one another, standing upon rocks near the waterfall. Thorin drew his camera out, drawing his shoes off and slipping into the water. He flattened his shorts down and tucked in his tanktop, drying his hands on a towel about his shoulders. He picked up his camera and then- “You three, just stay in range of the falls, there are a few smaller ones, down that way.” Thorin pointed to a dip downwards, over a crest of low valleys. “I’ll uh… be here for a while.”

            And Thorin snapped the photos. Fili and Kili were playing, Bilbo following after, watching the water rush down, but Thorin couldn’t concentrate. His eyes would wander up and down the falls, would snap new and old photos- but something was off. He stared for a moment, letting his eyes wander from the falls to the rocks below, to the foam that was settling and dissolving back into clear blues.

                       He listened to the laughter of his nephews, heard Bilbo call something, and that’s when he found Bilbo, standing at the waterfalls edge, leaning in and splashing water across his face. Thorin clicked far too many guilty images- and it struck him hard then…

            The waterfall was something he had been looking forward to all this time, to capturing another great memory, and sealing it away… it never occurred to him that Bilbo was another memory. Another memory he wanted to seal away and keep forever. And unlike the waterfall, if Thorin returned here the next year, Bilbo would not be there, splashing his face, then, turning and laughing with his nephews.

            Bilbo might… _not_ even be in Thorin’s life.

            Thorin glared down to his camera then, his brows furrowed, before he glanced up again to the writer smiling- he didn’t want this to end and just be a once in a lifetime thing. Fili and Kili encouraged the writer to come with them to the other waterfalls, they were smaller and they could bathe in them.

            Bilbo reluctantly stayed and saw Thorin fussing with his camera.

            “Are there really falls we could… stand under?” Thorin glanced up- “I mean, for a bath?”

            “Down the way,” he tossed his head that way, nodding. “You should go with them, if you’re curious.” Thorin smiled- “Not that either of these falls are going to be gone…” Bilbo began to beam. “Just be careful, the three of you together makes me nervous.”

            “I haven’t taught them anything,” Bilbo chuckled.

            “Really?” Thorin mocked. “I find that _extremely_ amusing and untrue.” Bilbo’s eyes owled- he hadn’t just _admitted_ that, did he? “They’ve been far too content as of recent, and I knew they were bored before.” But the writer did not make a noise, just avoiding Thorin’s gaze. “Keep your secrets then.” He teased and Bilbo squeaked-

            “I-I t-think I wi-will g-go join them,” Thorin chuckled and once left in peace he moved to the shores and rested his camera to his bag and watched the waterfall. He enjoyed the peace that came with its roar, with the silence of human noise, save his own, and let his mind wander. Eventually he was disrupted- Fili was looking over him, casting a dark shadow.

            “Uncle, so lost in thought,” his nephew chimed and Thorin groaned. “What’s the matter?”

            “If I knew, I’d tell you,” Thorin rubbed his eyes and straightened from his reclining position. “Aren’t you three supposed to be bathing?”

            “Kili wanted to have lunch first, we uh, made camp too,” Fili waved. “Next to a nice rock wall facing the jungle- we can almost see the Plains after that!” The blonde moved and took his Uncle’s bag- “Mister Bilbo said he wanted to wait for you to join us.”

            “I do doubt that,”

            “Or I could tell him you haven’t taken a single picture of the waterfall since we left,” Fili giggled then- “And you can find out for yourself, that Bilbo wanted to wait for you.” The blonde trotted down the slope and disappeared. Thorin finally relented and stood, hauling his camera with him down to camp. Fili and Kili had long gone by the time _he_ arrived, Bilbo there with his bathing necessities, writing quietly.

            “Waited for me?”

            “W… yeah,” Bilbo blushed and Thorin chuckled.

            “You didn’t need too,” Thorin set his camera within their tent and drew his own things out, hesitantly waiting.

            “Maybe I wanted too,” Their eyes lit against one another like a spark- pressing against one another and Thorin just averted his gaze.

            “Well, pick one then,” the writer leapt to his feet and bound off, encouraged. Bilbo was the first to slip into the little well, the first to step under the cool falls and laugh. Thorin was setting his things down, trying his best _not_ to gaze upon a… _bathing_ Bilbo. It was such a different sight than one of him reclining and relaxing. The waterfall made him feel young, made him act so, and when he stepped from the falls, slicking his hair back, Thorin felt his body pulse with need at the sight.

            “Are you coming?” Bilbo was grinning, slicking water from his face, refreshed and Thorin stumbled a bit to strip away his clothes and came in. He doused his hair, keeping his senses aware of where the writer was and hurriedly fetched the soap- but Bilbo caught his rushing- “Do you not want to bathe?” Bilbo asked then, worried.

            “Er…” Thorin stiffened and sighed. “I wanted to take a few more pictures, er, after lunch.” He lied- the writer didn’t need to know why he couldn’t stand being in the water that moment. Not with how… _sexy_ the writer was being, relishing natures gift like pleasur—“Just a bit more… disinclined when it’s daylight and one is… heh.” Thorin snorted- “Aroused when they shouldn’t be.” Bilbo owled then, looked down to Thorin then raised his eyes, disbelieving he had just _given_ Thorin a once-over.

            “Oh! I… I’m sorry, I didn’t! I… oh, that’s, sorry, I guess, I wasn’t helping, ‘come get naked with me’ bit, oh,” Bilbo shook his head. “Thorin, I’m sorry!” Thorin shook his head but, moved to the edge, leaning against a small rock- “Maybe, maybe I could rub your shoulders?”

            “You want to touch me?” Thorin laughed then- “After what—“

            “I mean maybe it will go away?” The writer could only hope- he, he _desperately_ wanted to talk to the adventurer, he could not face him. Not directly looking at him, and… and perhaps he could soothe some of the tension he had seen building. Thorin tensed but, bowed his head.

            “Fine then,” he chuckled and Bilbo moved to perch upon the bank and sat on his legs, Thorin resting against the edge, presenting his back. Bilbo always had a gentle and soothing touch and Thorin long forgot anything was ailing him until fingers tiptoed over his scar, over his wounded shoulder did he return to the present. “Enjoying your work?”

            “No, I…” Bilbo sighed, soft in his caress. “Just it’s more interesting.”

            “Interesting?” Thorin repeated.

            “All the other scars are stories, Thorin,” he murmured. “And… this one just isn’t a story, it’s a memory. I _have_ this memory too, not just you.” He lent down, and pressed his lips against the top of the wound, and exhaled down the rest. “I made this happen.”

            “I do not blame you-“

            “But I do,” Bilbo countered.

            “You should not,” Thorin chided then, letting his eyes close again. “I’d do it again, if it meant to make sure you were safe.” Bilbo raised his eyes- he was stunned. Sure he _knew_ Thorin placed no blame, knew he’d do it all over again if he had too, but hearing it… registering it was a truth and not just… a fantasy… “So don’t fret. It happened, we’re both fine, and I get to guilt you for it.” Bilbo gave the wound a gentle slap making the adventurer hiss, but chuckle. “Alright, I won’t hold it over you.” Thorin turned to face the writer. “We share the memory, think of it… think of it as something special.”

            “Why, you hurting yourself shouldn’t be special,” Bilbo growled, confused, pouting.

            “Who else can say they were there?” Thorin asked. And Bilbo was speechless. “Who else can say they rushed to my aide, terrified out of their minds? Who was the one that I got this scar _for?_ I didn’t mean to treat it like a prize, but merely, a memory. Sure it was scary and not a memory you want to recall, but _you_ took care of me. Not the other way around. And… I’ll remember it that way.” Bilbo’s mouth hung open and Thorin moved to close it. “For once, I had… someone to look after _me.”_

            “Thorin,” he looked down to his hands then, and Thorin twisted a bit more.

            “What?”

            “You have answers for everything,” Bilbo whimpered a bit, clawing at his hands. “You make everything seem so grand and brilliant, when really it’s terrifying and drastic.” Thorin listened, and Bilbo huffed, drawing the towel over his lap and drying his legs and stomach.

            “I’ve spent a lot of time seeing the brilliant and grand, the terrifying and dramatic, breathtaking, heart stopping, what have you,” Thorin waved. “And many people can get that from home, they don’t need to stand upon the crest of a waterfall and see a whole jungle to feel humble and a part of something bigger. So I have some answers, yes.” Thorin nodded, looking out to the vast jungle before him. “But I don’t have answers for everything. Certainly not. I wouldn’t be… so confused and troubled if I did.”

            “Are you? Confused?” Bilbo blinked, stunned.

            “Often more than not,” Thorin replied and for a while they remained like that, Bilbo stretching in the sun and Thorin reclining in the water.

            “If I asked… about yesterday,” Bilbo let his eyes slide over- hoping- the adventurer would have an answer, something more. “About… what you were trying to capture, about this game…”

            “Bilbo-“

            “I mean it, Thorin,” the writer straightened, turning Thorin to face him and he let himself be turned, looking into those eager and pleading eyes.

            “And I meant what I said yesterday,” he took a breath. “Maker, Bilbo.” Thorin moved forward and cupped those round cheeks in both hands and kept their eyes locked. “If I had an answer for you, I’d tell you. If I but knew the answer you sought I would tell you to make you happy- just to make you happy.” Bilbo squeaked, swallowed. “I don’t. Maker, you’re not the only one who wants an answer, alright?” Thorin chuckled sourly, looking off and then returned his gaze, bumped his forehead against Bilbo’s. “I would give you all the answers if one was not enough.” Bilbo sounded like he was ready to cry, sniffled and met Thorin’s eyes. “Tell me what answer you would have me say, and I will tell you.”

            “I want _your_ answer Thorin,” the writer whispered back- “I don’t want a fantasy. The truth.” And Thorin dropped his hands, then drew away completely.

            “The truth,” Thorin repeated. “It’s a game. I enjoy it, perhaps selfishly. And… I enjoy it’s with you. What… is being interpreted between that, what’s being left unsaid…” He shrugged his shoulders, and then looked off. “I don’t know what there is there. What you hope for me to say and what you’re _hoping_ to hear are different. Maybe not. I’ve…” his gaze wandered over the writer, taking in his tanning legs, his damp skin, the curves of his sides and torso, the eager way he perched, listening. “I’ve always been so sure of myself, so sure of everything. What I did, what I felt, think… and then, I met this podgy little writer and… out goes reason.” He threw his hand to the jungle. “Maybe your answer is out there. If I had it, if I knew _where_ to look, I’d go, right this second.” Then… Thorin moved to get out and Bilbo let him. He dried off and slipped his slacks on, did up the laces. “If I knew what you wanted, Master Baggins, I would give it, if I could. If I had what you wanted.”

            Bilbo did not return for a long while and Thorin was _alright_ with that. Well, he was fine that the writer was off thinking, and out of his area, not in sight. In his mind, he was tormented- did he convince the writer it was over? That he wasn’t a good man? What _had_ he convinced the writer of? When the writer finally returned to camp, he seemed pensive around Thorin, but he wasn’t sure about what to say. Thorin offered to cook and Bilbo asked if he could help and slowly conversation turned pleasant and amiable.

            When evening fell the same energy was there, soft and pleasant and then Thorin was being tugged away with Bilbo, both their pipes tucked in his hand a single match between them. He drew him some distance away, Fili and Kili calling they’d be heading to sleep soon. Bilbo stuffed their pipes, lit his own then offered the match to Thorin who quickly tucked his pipe between lips to puff the flame to life in his pipe-weed. “Scandalous, tugging me from camp. And so far.”

            “Oh, stuff it,” Bilbo waved and they shared the quiet of the night together, and Bilbo raised his eyes. “I’ve never really seen this many stars before.” And Thorin let his eyes flicker to the gleaming light. “I’ve… never really felt this… confused either.” The adventurer faced the writer then- perked. “Thorin… I thought a lot about what you said… earlier.” Thorin grew tense. “And I don’t believe a word of it.”

            That was _blunt._ “I know that’s blunt.” Had he said that aloud? “I want you to just tell me.” He was looking at Thorin, stern, even a lingering anger there, eyes narrowed as they glared. “What is this between us?”

            “There isn’t,” Thorin opened his mouth again. “I told you it was a game-“

            “A game in which you’ve broken the rules to make room for more kisses,”

            “Which was an alteration I hadn’t heard your dislike of until now… ” Thorin countered. “What… _do_ you think of our game? Of the changed rules?”

            “If there is nothing more than just interest? Curiosity?” Bilbo huffed. “Then I’d say you’re playing a child’s game.” Bilbo snarled then, puffing from his pipe. “A child’s game that is dangerous. I don’t appreciate you _assuming_ you _have_ all those answers you’re keeping to yourself.” Bilbo outright _shivered_ with frustration and anger, with a quieted rage that had Thorin taking in the whole scene with silence. “I… if it’s just a game, Thorin. If it means nothing, if you think that it _might_ be something, or might not…” he shook his head then. “It needs to stop. You can’t make a game like that.”

            “You agreed to the rules, you agreed all the same, knowing my position-“

            “But you kept pressing!” Bilbo lashed out- “You pressed for deeper, for more, for better, for hands, for-“ Bilbo stopped, and Thorin saw his hazel eyes glisten then with hope… with sadness. “You… you took advantage of me.” That made Thorin still, made his eyes round and finally, Bilbo had a reaction. “You made this a game for fun, and it became much more than that, and yet you deny that. Tell me it means nothing. You used our friendship, this good camaraderie as an excuse for a game, tell me then, that this game is nothing but that- nothing but your whim.”

            “I’m sorry,” Thorin murmured and Bilbo opened his mouth to yell- but ceased.

            “What?”

            “I’m sorry,” Thorin dropped his hands to his sides. “I am sorry. I made a game out of my curiosity regarding you. And it was selfish and… I… your friendship means _a lot_ to me, Bilbo. I… did not know I delved so deeply against your will.”

            “You’re… yes you did,”

            “No, honest,” Thorin took a step back. “I swear it. Please, I ask forgiveness though I know I’m not worthy to have it. I pressed because I enjoyed it so much, being around you was different than anything else and… and I’ve ruined that companionship for my selfish endeavors.” He wanted to hug him, wanted to kiss him and tell him he hadn’t meant to betray the writer, hadn’t meant to break their trust, their friendship-

            He had been right all this time. “I told you I had no answers because I did not know what I was doing.”

            “You didn’t _know_ what you were doing, or didn’t _want_ to _know_ what you were doing?” Bilbo glared weakly.

            “I _didn’t_ know,” Thorin clarified. “Maker, Bilbo, had I known, had I known that over something meant to be funny and sweet would turn out like this. That…” and he felt his throat grow tight, felt tears well in his sinuses. “That I would be standing here arguing over their meaning…” The adventurer did not step closer though he wanted to impart a shake to the writer’s shoulder, an embrace to promise never to cross such boundaries and yet- he already had, didn’t he? “I cannot say anything to rectify myself, nor undo what suffering I’ve imparted. It was not intentional. I suppose, things like this never are, but I swear, Bilbo, I never meant to drive a wall between us. I made this kissing game up… because…” he groaned. “Because…”

            “Because what Thorin?” the writer snapped.

            “Because I’m fond of you,” he sputtered out. “That’s your answer.” Bilbo blinked, wide-eyed, mouth falling open, his pipe dropping to the ground below. Bilbo quickly doused any embers with a fussy foot and fumbling. “That’s the answer you were asking for, but it’s not the one you wanted, was it?” Hazel eyes lifted and found Thorin’s steely blues shimmering, darker they seemed, duller. “I made an irrational choice, a youngster should have made, but you make me feel that age. I know myself well, I’m confident in myself, and interacting with you is like I’m unsure of who I am again. I care… unwontedly.” He bowed his head. “I will not press you again. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

            Bilbo was paralyzed, stock still as he looked upon the adventurer with big eyes. Had… had he heard all that right? F-Fond? Did he… like Bilbo? No, no, that was impossible, Thorin didn’t show love like that.

            Did he?

            “I…” but Thorin did not look up at the noise. “You made up a game for that?” Bilbo managed and Thorin’s hands fisted at his side.

            “I didn’t say it was one of the most intelligent things I’ve done, but yes,” Thorin glared at the ground. “Please, just,… it was wrong of me. It was wrong to let my curiosity take the reins and pretend we were young again- that a fling could be thrown to the wind with little thoughts or regrets. I led you on to believe something and I betrayed your trust.” Thorin took a few steps forward and was before the writer, and _Maker…_

            Being in front of him again rekindled all the feelings- care, worry, sorrow, anger, pain- just being in his presence Thorin wanted to corral the writer close and kiss his words away and wash the anger down.

            That wouldn’t work this time. “When you can forgive me… I…” he what? What would he do? Pretend to be his friend again? He could, for their trip- he’d leave with the guilty memories of stealing photos of the writer and forever pine for something he had ruined, something…

            Something that had been grandeur and brilliant.

            He hadn’t even realized tears had well until Bilbo’s gasp of his name made his eyes raise and one slipped. He wiped at his face angrily- “I do not want our friendship to waste away, Master Baggins. You’ve become a dear friend, moreover, I care deeply for your opinion.” Mask it away, stuff it down and let it simmer on the back burner and when you’re away…

            Let it go.

            Let _him_ go. “Bilbo, I am sorry for causing you any grief or discomfort. I… should have stopped months ago. But I suppose, even a worldly man has his guilty pleasures and dark secrets.” He stepped away and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder as he moved back towards their camp, feeling disjointed and disconnected. Fili and Kili had asked what their bemoaning had been about and Thorin glanced over, haunted.

            Fili moved to come out but Thorin smiled and waved his hand. “That I did not…” Thorin heard Bilbo returning. “That I had not washed Master Baggins after he treated me.”

            “Uh huh,” Kili groaned, though neither of the brothers believed Thorin, Bilbo also _lied_ with him. When they tucked themselves back away, excusing themselves as being exhausted and unprepared to deal with the couple, Thorin eyed the writer then. He let him into their tent first and when Thorin stepped to join him, he… drew out a blanket instead- Bilbo asked what he was doing and Thorin chuckled, said he wanted to read what the writer had. In two weeks, they’d land in a city- and- they hadn’t spent a lot of time with their book, that they had been acting like children.

            “Thorin?” the adventurer hummed. “I’d have forgiven you at any time.”

            “But now?”

            “I still forgive you,” Bilbo clenched at the sheets he was sitting upon. “You’re important to me too, you know, that’s why I… was upset.”

            “Well, then we’re all settled?” Thorin let out a hushed laugh. “Sleep, before you ask me anymore questions that have me crying like a babe. I’m sensitive, even if I’m a bear.” Thorin murmured with a smile, but Bilbo didn’t believe it.

            “I guess I have to ask the right question,” Thorin’s heart froze- _Maker stop this please._ He begged. _You saved him, whoever, whatever luck was on his side, thank you, but let me go. ‘Twas a game and I made the wrong move, let it just…_ “Good night, Thorin.” _Just stop this teasing._ “Don’t stay up too late? Sweet dreams, _bear.”_

            Thorin had never felt such a drain on his soul before and as he gazed up at the night sky he wondered… _I would wish upon all these stars for another chance._

            A cold and dark madness began to slither and crawl over him- _you **had** one._


	22. Saudade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madness can creep into the strongest of minds- love can turn into obsession. Obsession can clear the path to hope.
> 
> Saudade: (n.) a deep, nostalgic, and melancholic longing for something or someone, often accompanied with a denied fact that what one longs for will never come back (wordstuck.co.vu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO.
> 
> Battle of Five Armies was f*cking depressing as shit (even though it was expected, and hoped to cry like a babe, I did. Each time I saw it.)
> 
> I admit, I'm curious if people are still READING this fic at all- I know I posted in June/July the last chapter, I hope so. I would have hate to fallen out. I personally left the "internet fandom" since I felt there was a lacking- granted many good pairings from other series popped up and I saw many fans flock to that--no hate intended--I was there, oogling too.
> 
> In the meantime, have at it. The other chapters will come soon enough- sooner than this one, for sure. Everyone will hate me for this one, everyone will then love me for the next one. The one after that you will all be squealing for my punishing you, and the one after? Well.
> 
> It's a bit steamy.

            Thorin woke with the chirps of the birds and to critters rooting through their camp. He rushed upwards, imposing his figure upon the thieving critters before they scurried away. Thorin groaned then, rubbing his neck, stretching his back- he had _every_ intention of returning to their shared tent, Bilbo and Thorin’s, honest, but…

            Something kept him out. Something kept him from rising and sliding in against blankets.

            Instead, he was sore, grunted for his pain. Whichever woke his nephews and the writer, his shouting at the animals or groaning in pain, they all eventually popped their heads from the tents, curious.

            “Ah, animals,” he murmured, pointing to a sack ripped open and a few fruits missing chunks and a few just _gone._ “Sorry, go back to sleep.” But that only made the heads draw back in and not an hour later, shuffling was heard, the other three stepping out, stretching from a good night’s sleep. Maker, Thorin felt a seething anger rush across him at how well-rested they all looked, even the writer.

            The writer seemed wholly unaffected by whatever had happened last night, Thorin almost questioned aloud had it been but a nightmare, a brief yet terrifying hallucination. However, Thorin’s long gaze resulted in the writer pausing, smiling, before it vanished just as quick as it had appeared.

            Thorin realized a bit too late, he had _remained_ stoic in his judgment.

            He wanted to make amends, but Kili was already sliding over to the writer, babbling on about _something_ or another. Thorin turned and bent down to pull out the bad food, biting down the hiss of pain that screeched through. Fili moved to help, but his eyes were focused upon his Uncle, pondering, worried…

_Scared_ too. Though Thorin wasn’t sure why. “If you have something to ask, then ask it and be done with it.” He snapped, standing and tossing the bad fruits far from their camp with a growl. Fili stood, blinking at his Uncle.

            “You two fought last night,”

            “Does all my business have to be yours and your brother’s?” Thorin questioned then, eyes stern when they fell upon the blonde. “Well?”

            “It’s not like we didn’t _hear_ it,” Fili cleared his throat, his Uncle’s wrath not _quite_ what he expected so early in the morning. “We just wanted to make sure you two were fin—“

            “We are,” Thorin rolled his eyes and picked up the rest of the mess, masking the soreness that came. His shoulder was burning brightly with what felt like pins and needles. He rolled his shoulder as he stood at his tent finally, Bilbo turned to look, as did Kili.

            “Are you alright Thorin?” Bilbo asked, rising tentatively to reach for his wounded shoulder, but Thorin ducked away from it.

            “Just sore, slept on it wrong,” Thorin grumbled but he caught Bilbo’s eyes- the writer knew. He knew that Thorin had not _returned_ to their tent- and Thorin let his eyes wander to his nephews, before they fell back to the writer. “Do you have something for it? I’ll be in your debt.”

            “Aren’t you always?” Bilbo beamed and ducked in first and Thorin wanted to snort at the irony of that statement before, following after. “And…” Bilbo started to whisper. “You should have to come to bed.” The writer chided, mixing up another tonic for Thorin and something to put onto his shoulder. “I think we’re adults, you don’t need to go and be all moody over a tiff.”

            “Honestly…” Thorin drew his tank off and sighed- “Honestly I hadn’t noticed. I _was_ planning on coming back.” His eyes lowered and he turned his back to the writer, facing away- Maker, he felt tight all over, felt sore and weak from head to toe. He felt Bilbo come behind him and instantly tensed- the writer sighed.

            “You’re not proving yourself right, you know,” Cool cream came to his shoulder and instantly the adventurer slouched, _purred_ against his hand holding his face up at the soft and gentle fingers working magic into his pained shoulder. “Do you want to talk more about—“

            “No,” Thorin was tight all over again, and Bilbo flicked a deep part of the wound, making the adventurer cringe. “I really don’t. I said what I had too and… that’s all I have to say.”

            “So you’re just going to be tense and nervous around me until this is over and we go our separate ways?” Thorin wondered if he stayed silent _long_ enough the writer would give up. “Answer me.” It seemed that tactic would no longer _work._

            “No I-“ Thorin turned to face the writer, and there was an… exasperated frown upon the writer’s face, brows furrowed with frustration, mouth downturned in upset and anger. Eyes, his eyes though shimmered with loss and sorrow. “I said yesterday, I knew myself so well before I met you.” Bilbo just continued to stare, his eyes darting between Thorin’s, mapping the way his brows would dip the slightest, the way a flicker of eyelids would betray hesitancy or disbelief. “I do not know the man I am right now. Not… as I did before. I… I would not have made this game, would _never_ have… pressed anything upon you like this.” Thorin broke the eye contact, choosing to bow his head in grief and apology. “I’d like to save what camaraderie there is, call me a child, wean me of your touch.”

            “You’re afraid of my touch-“

            “I’m afraid of what I would do after,” Thorin raised his eyes, a glare, fierce, and Bilbo’s eyes widened- then their expressions softened again. “I misled you _and_ myself. I’m… at a loss on appropriateness.” Thorin raised his hand and at first he wanted to hold Bilbo’s face, instead, he reached for his shoulder- his thumb coincidentally landing upon the muscle in Bilbo’s neck, making him gasp. “Give me… a bit of air.”

            “You haven’t broken this friendship completely, Thorin, you act as if it cannot be salvaged,” Bilbo held Thorin’s hand softly, lowering it and squeezed his hand with both of his. “I still want to be your friend, I don’t _want_ anything to change.” Bilbo blushed and looked away- “It’s not _every_ day I have a dwarven king confess he adores me.” Thorin snorted a bit, a laugh finally erupting before he let it slide into a smile. “I am pretty adorable.”

            “Oh, snuff it, you just wanted me to admit I thought your pudge was cute,” Bilbo flailed, but Thorin did leave the tent feeling refreshed but there was a lingering weight on his shoulders.

            Just… adoration. Fondness. Not even _like_. And definitely not love.

            His words had gone through one ear and out the other.

_As expected. You knew where his heart lay-_ Thorin glanced to the writer as he came out and stretched, being offered a cup of coffee, content. _Not with you._

            They packed camp and moved down from the waterfalls, their rumbling eventually falling into a soft echo, before finally fading entirely back into the scope of the jungle. Thorin was wary of the writer, of their closeness, which made him tense, made him short and irritable- it was not the first time nor even the second when he snapped at his nephews-

            But by evening when they had set camp and said they had not collected fruits during lunch that they finally whimpered at Thorin’s snarl, that Bilbo had to come and coax the adventurer down, who immediately became thrice as enraged and foreboding. Thorin recoiled from the writer as if scalded and stormed off into the jungle some distance from their camp to pace.

            Bilbo would learn not to venture too near, lest he hear the snarls of _‘go away’_ and _‘begone’_ in a tone that chilled him to his soul; how could something intangible be frozen?

            Thorin felt like he was crazed, driven by a heat he had no control over- Maker, if animals felt this boiling under their skin to mate or feast, he would condemn such volition of gods then. It made him sweat and snarl, and curse the very thing he wanted to be closer with—

_But you’ve already ruined that, haven’t you?_ It was a voice- his voice- that would whisper into the echoing chambers of his mind, of his memories, of things precious and held dear. He could never hold onto them, when he would try, the tighter he squeezed, the more they slipped away- even pooling them like the fragile glass dolls they would shatter and break.

            Thorin decided he had to rekindle what this adventure was; simply, an adventure for _adventures_ sake. A book. This was about a book, not some fluff romance novel written by a man content by his hearth at home. Thus, the following day, Thorin found himself _enthralled_ when he was finally gifted a sight of sloths- easy to snap photos for and even easier to keep still. There were many, draped from branches and just as Thorin raised his camera- he saw something funny.

            Saw…

            A wee writer, beaming at the sloth above as he watched it feed, stuck in a sluggish motion. Thorin lowered the camera then as memory glazed before him- what had his camera been for, but to capture the candid? To capture nature the way nature had intended to be seen. Was Bilbo not a part of his subjects now? Had the writer _not_ become a memory he wanted to lock away?

            When hazel eyes flickered over, he smiled, blushed, and opened his mouth to speak but Thorin turned away with his camera- as if it had been but a second he’d gazed in recollection. Bilbo would not need to ever know the length of his gaze, nor that he could not snap another photo of the writer.

            For surely, one can only take a certain amount of suffering, of… _memories._

            And it wasn’t the first time the writer began to notice Thorin’s… outward _dismissiveness._ He supposed that was what it would be- the adventurer took on a very serious sense of finishing this book, of capturing wildlife and fodder for their grand adventure- had it not been grand before? Bilbo confided within Thorin’s nephews, he was worried Thorin _might_ have taken Bilbo shrugging him off a bit too seriously.

            They encouraged Bilbo to say something instead, before stepping in. This was how Bilbo found himself with a journal, doodling the adventurer sitting across the fire from him. He hadn’t _meant_ to build distance, but Thorin often moved away, as carefully and unassuming as possible- he knew Bilbo took notice.

            “Thorin,” the adventurer paused in his whittling. “Um… could you come here?” Thorin lifted his gaze, smiled, stood, settled beside the writer with a curious look upon his face.

            How could he be so… _fake?_ “I was wondering about this part… here…” he flipped back a few pages, to actual _story_ before Thorin had stopped him. A picture of the adventurer lay in between the pages of notes, sleeping- when he had first wounded his shoulder, if Thorin’s memory served. Bilbo swallowed and tugged the journal back for a moment- “You’re an easy subject, er, in comparison to your nephews or the wild animals.”

            “I am slow moving,” Bilbo chuckled, but Thorin only snorted, and waited patiently for the story. He read over it, and Bilbo was given a free moment to study Thorin.

            It resulted in nothing; nothing could be gleaned from Thorin’s expression at all, no pained snarl or glimmer of upset, just… calm. Relaxed even. Thorin brought the writer from his reverie when he leaned over- pointing to a portion in the story. “I do like this scene, but, a bit of comedy couldn’t hurt it?” Thorin began to grin as the writer read over the scene, as though catching onto the same idea. “It’s a journey down rapids, in barrels. I _doubt_ it would truthfully be fun… but it would describe us well, yes?” Bilbo made a note of it in the margin, folding the corner over as Thorin was given the journal back. Bilbo drew his pipe out then, chuckling at Thorin’s new-found sense of comedy.

            “You’re a comedian now?” Bilbo glanced up- “What else do you proclaim to be, Mister Durin?”

            “Many things,” Thorin eyed the writer for a long while, and Bilbo thought he had spotted something tender in his gaze- desperate or needy, some primal urge, but nothing- it had vanished the moment the writer even tried to dissect it. Thorin had done a superb job of masking his annoyance, _if_ he had any towards him. “Though I often claim to be a good man. Not often enough.” Thorin began to rise when he was stopped by a hand encircled about his wrist- it trembled.

            “Is there something wrong?” Thorin frowned, clearly misunderstanding, so he retook his seat. “You’ve been on edge a bit.”

            “Well, getting to the Falls, I was sort of able to get about a time frame, where we’re at, what month it is- well, obviously I know what month, but, we’re a bit closer to spring than I expected,” Thorin rubbed his creased brow, and for the first time in a few weeks, it had eased, smoothed out. “If we’re to make it to the city by spring, we still might not make it.”

            “We’ll miss the festivals?”

            “Oh, no,” Thorin chuckled. “Though spring is _in_ a few weeks-“ Thorin quoted- “festivals don’t particularly start until _next_ month.” The adventurer bit his lip then- “We should, be heading back soon.”

            “You know what I said, months ago, was true right?” Thorin peered over his shoulder at Bilbo- “That even if spring comes and goes, and the book was not finished, I would finish it. Regardless.”

            “I know,”

            “Do you not believe me?”

            “I do believe you,” Thorin exhaled solemnly. “I _like_ to keep to my word- Master Baggins, I’d extend a formal extension though I know you’ve already said yes.” He beamed then, to the writer. “I just want to hurry it along, anxious I suppose- I know how well the story is _faring_ but… I’d like to see you put it to type and a hard leather cover too.” Bilbo’s cheeks flushed deeply, bowing his head as he licked his lips abashed and flattered by the adventurer’s words. “My nephews are riling me up- in a way I… well. Cannot contend with, I guess.” Bilbo reached for Thorin’s arm again and squeezed, and the adventurer relented, allowing a guilty touch.

            “I can help manage them,” Thorin waved though at the remark, at the offer. “Something else is bothering you, I see it.” And for the first time, Bilbo caught sight of something peculiar. In all his time with the adventurer, he never knew the man to be a spiteful sort that would undergo a drastic behavioral change- for a misunderstanding. But indeed, perhaps Thorin had another side that he had never showed, one tucked beneath the mask of confidence and calm. No, Thorin wasn’t… shallow like that, not over a misunderstanding. “Tell me?” And for a long while, Bilbo believed the adventurer would not speak, that he would simply _wait out_ the writer’s patience.

            “It’s just something personal,” Thorin murmured after the pause, the stillness overbearing, and the writer _obviously_ not interested in _leaving._ Not like Thorin could avoid it for long. “I felt something strange, up at the waterfalls like, a drowning feeling, helplessness? I’m too old to be soul-searching, 40, and drowning in personal doubt after years of building confidence and acceptance. Call it what you will, it’s a bother.”

            “Well, maybe you’re near your midlife crisis?”

            “Are you saying I’ll only live to 80?” Thorin chuckled, Bilbo’s eyes owling at the realization he had just insinuated Thorin had already met his midlife. “Maybe. Worse time to have it.”

            “I think you’ll be fine,” Bilbo beamed, and moved to stroke Thorin’s back, happy the adventurer didn’t squirm away or tense. He stood and stretched and reached over to tuck a stray strand of curly black hair behind the adventurer’s ear- “I can’t wait to have normal hair myself. I’m off to bed with this.” Bilbo waved his journal and skipped to bed- Thorin would feel the guilty pleasure flush his entire body for the course of the night but would not give in to it’s pleas.

            The following day Thorin packed their camp rather early- particularly earlier than usual, which had groans roaming all through the afternoon until he decided to give in and let the three exhausted men settle for lunch. Thorin had caught Bilbo slipping between shots in his camera, and tired of seeing the writer when he looked, turned his camera away.

            “Bilbo, do you mind?” He waved his camera and pointed to where Bilbo was standing- who jumped as Thorin waved for him to _get out_ of the way.

            Bilbo had never had that happen before, he wondered then, what Thorin had done before, if he simply _ignored_ him or snapped the photo anyway. And the writer was not the only one to partake in the peculiar behavior of the adventurer either.

            Fili and Kili were quite _disturbed_ to see Thorin wave the writer out- he had admitted taking pictures of the writer, without honestly knowing, then outright _enjoying_ photographing him. What had changed? Why had it made Thorin stiff in the mornings and surly through the day? Whatever Bilbo had spoken of to Thorin obviously had not helped, and the next few days, the sour attitude from the adventurer only became darker. Eventually Bilbo had said to the nephews that it was something personal bothering Thorin, which seemed to trigger something in their eyes the writer noticed.

            “You know what’s wrong?” They looked at one another at the question one evening before Kili turned-

            “Not, quite, but, we have an idea, and, we can’t tell you,” Kili bowed his head. “Uncle’s a… private man.”

            “Dangerously so, sometimes,” Fili admitted. “It’s nothing about you, and it’ll pass in time.” Fili assured with a grin, and snatched a skewer with a fish upon it. “Don’t worry much, alright? This has happened before.” It did not _help_ his worry, but at least, Thorin was in good hands with his nephews.

            Both went to speak with Thorin after dinner that night.

            “Uncle,” Kili started and Thorin shook his head, waving a hand to them.

            “I know why both of you have come here, and I’m only going to ask once for you to stop,” Thorin turned to face them, cold, a hand raised, poised- he had prepared for this moment, knowing his behavior would catch the ever-present watch of his nephews.

            “But, Uncle,” Fili started. “You’ve been… _fussy._ You… never had a problem taking a picture of Mister Bilbo bef—“

            “I said, I would only ask you once to stop,” Thorin threatened. “Do not _tempt_ me further.” They stilled and glanced between one another.

            “Are you alright, then?” Kili asked instead and Thorin tensed, knowing they would just weave their way into asking about the writer- no matter if his threats were words or carried out. He let his brows furrow and lowered his eyes.

            “We’ve lost a lot of time,” Thorin wasn’t _completely_ lying- they had with his shoulder. “I want some space, so please, lend me that.”

            “Space? Did Bilbo say something—“And Kili covered his mouth and Thorin had glared but- softened it at the shock upon the youngest. “We… he’s sort of worried to, you know. We…”

            “We told him you were just going through something, had nothing to do with him, and uh, you experienced it before,” Fili finished with a weakened smile, worried. “We… _know_ something is wrong.”

            “It was wrong,” Thorin added. “All of it. All of… what I did. Let it be, boys, please.” Thorin nodded to himself with his head bowed, eyes delving through the darkness, or trying to. “I’m sorry for my words, my actions. I just… need a bit of peace. No more pestering. No more games, what… was there is… no more. Drop it.” Their eyes met, but Thorin knew they were just plotting another way- some other ridiculous plan that would only end with their Uncle contrite and lonely again.

            Satisfied, at least a bit, that their Uncle just needed a bit of air to clear his head, they backed away. The following days had Thorin more easygoing, though he was more strict in waking them earlier and infrequent breaks. It did not take long, however, for Thorin to become agitated again- Fili and Kili had run up ahead, tugging the writer along when Bilbo tripped, stumbled and caught himself upon a tree. It startled some animals nearby who’d been eating the leaves peacefully and now were stomping. Thorin had to hurry them off some safe distance, calling them for a break. “What the hell is wrong with you two?” he snarled a bit and heaved a breath. “Unbelievable- this is a much more dangerous place than in North and you two think you can gallivant into the brush like fawns, dragging others after you?”

            Bilbo cringed as if he was receiving these chides, the punishment.

            “Thorin, it’s, alright, we made it safely—“

            “Because _I_ forced the three of you to cease your antics,” Thorin glared, but when Bilbo returned it, he softened his gaze. “We need to be careful. We hit open plains again, where rhinoceros roam, we will not simply be able to wander past them at a hurried pace.” He stroked his beard and turned to rub his eyes then his temples. “Maker, can we get _out_ of the rainforest without… _further_ delays and close calls?” Thorin turned then, resting his hands to his hips, head bowed in defeat, gritting his teeth quietly. It was the first time that the nephews and writer had seen Thorin look so clouded and defeated, as if he was…

            Well. He _was_ unsure. He had not a clue what to do, how to act, this darkness pooled in his gut, reacted harshly and tasted like bile- felt like burning, smelled of tears and ash. “I’m not warning you two again to knock it off.” He looked up, his eyes seemed to _glow_ with unfiltered rage, as if the depths of his soul were burning and they were witness to its destruction. “And don’t give in to their youth- I have a hard enough time watching them, too, as well you and myself.” He took a breath, and Bilbo just let the rebuke come to his face. “Don’t.” Thorin waved, turning then, eyes narrowed as he moved to his pack, drawing out a canister of water, and checking it. “Come on, we need to find water.” He drew his pack on and the others followed suit, dragging their feet the entire time.

            They reached a small stream by nightfall, and Thorin cursed he had to spend so much time wandering up and down to assure its perimeter, though the others had offered to help, he told them to go and make camp. When Thorin returned, the camp went silent and he was upset, but, he had calmed a bit. He sat across from the three of them, arms resting on his legs as he caught his face in his hands.

            It was Bilbo that saw his arm tremble- the injured one. He stood and drew a plate of food up and stood before Thorin, offering it quietly. Their eyes met and Thorin felt his chest tighten, eyeing the food. He smiled and took it, nodding his thanks.

            “Let me see your shoulder,” Bilbo sat next to Thorin and for a moment, the adventurer tensed, but he allowed his shirt to be undone and drawn downwards. His shoulder exposed to soft and smooth fingers had chills lighting his skin in pricks, hairs standing on end at the attention. “You scraped it- some of the scabbing came off.” Bilbo pressed against a purplish bruise and Thorin hissed-

            “When we had to _run through_ the forest earlier,” Thorin blew out a shaky breath as Bilbo pressed it agai—“Maker it hurts, already.” Thorin hissed and Bilbo stopped, eyes enlarged. “S-Sorry.” Bilbo stood and returned with his herbs again, pressing a soft and cold cream to his skin and new scrapes, easing the immediate pain there. They let it dry before Thorin was allowed to do up his shirt and Bilbo smiled but Thorin did not return it. The writer let the smile falter for a moment, head bowing in apology.

            “Please take care?” Bilbo murmured. “I… I want to see you in one piece when o…your book is finished.” _Your_ book. Their eyes met again and it was as though they had just met- their differences so great, how could a journey for a year be spent in warm company?

            “I imagined it would be _you_ sitting here sore, not me,” He chuckled and Bilbo laughed then, the sound rich and refreshing. “I will be fit.” Bilbo gave him a once over and Thorin raised his hands in surrender. “I promise. I’ll impress you with how good I look in a suit.”

            “Oh I can imagine Thorin,” Bilbo blushed, touching his temple. “I have a very… _very_ good imagination.” Bilbo smiled and turned shyly moving to their tent but not coming back out. Thorin lowered his eyes, glaring upon the flames eating the wood. The next day his mood had not improved, but he kept his snarls to himself, urging them forward through the jungle.

            Many times, one of the three of them would call for a break, needing a drink or a breath and Thorin would pace in wait. He wanted out. It was as though the jungle was coiling its vines around his neck, better around his heart, luring him like the beauty of this place. Tantalizing such a thing before him that he could not have, could not _feast_ upon- his nephews only _festered_ this desire, this rawness…

            This darkness in his heart.

            One particularly hot afternoon, his nephews had called to Thorin to tell him that Bilbo was feeling weak, Thorin had turned to see Bilbo wiping his forehead and hazy- he started to fall forward and Kili had reached to keep him upright. He was a bit clammy when Thorin came over, and handed him his canister of water. The writer held onto Thorin to drink, blinking dizzily.

            “Why didn’t you two say anything sooner?” Thorin glared—

            “We did!” Kili retorted, brows furrowed. Their Uncle had been nothing but callous and snippy. Angry for no reason and if he had one, he would not share it, would not speak of it. They had thought he had apologized, that things would lighten up, but they would not. “You didn’t want to stop—“

            “I didn’t know it was serious-“

            “Uncle, we’re not children, do you think we would have asked if we didn’t think Bilbo needed a break?” Fili stepped between his brother and Uncle and Thorin leveled that glare downwards. Thorin only stood closer to the blonde who shook at his Uncle’s height and demeanor.

            “Not when you two do not _press_ me,” The adventurer waved his hand. “Take a break, get us something to eat. And this isn’t to happen again.” Fili kept his eyes level with his Uncle, scowling the entire time. Thorin guided Bilbo to the forest floor, drawing his pack off. “Could have said something.”

            “We didn’t want you to get mad,” Bilbo tried to smile, but Thorin looked more upset. His eyes broiled with rage and Bilbo stretched an arm out to Thorin- “You’ve been upset.”

            “I said it was nothing,”

            “I’m also not your nephews,” Thorin whipped his head around to see the writer- to gaze into his concerned hazel eyes, sweat beading and running down flushed cheeks and matting hair to his tanned skin. “What’s bothering you? I get we’re on a deadline, that we need to move forward…” Thorin lowered his eyes then, quietly listening. “But this is ridiculous. We’re tired Thorin, we haven’t so much as stopped to gaze at a damn thing-“

            “Maybe if I hadn’t fallen, we wouldn’t have to rush past it all,” Thorin said lowly- dark. “That was a waste of precious time, alright?” Thorin slowly stood, shrugging at his pack’s weight. “It’s the jungle.” He waved and began to move away- “See half of it, you’ve seen it all.”

            They spent the night there, Bilbo merely dehydrated and a bit exhausted- though he avoiding Thorin at any cost. It made Fili and Kili corner their Uncle before he ventured into the darkness for a smoke.

            “We said we wouldn’t pester you,” Kili murmured. “But now you’re just… making this trip a disaster.” Thorin glared.

            “Kili’s right, Uncle,” Fili was on the receiving end of that gaze then- “Mister Bilbo said something to you that night at the waterfalls.” When those brows came together, dipping with worry and pain, the two perked at the new emotion. “Whatever he said, I’m sure there is a reason-“

            “This,” he waved and then…

            Found himself speechless. Found he had no words to defend himself, nor explain. He gazed off into the forest for a moment, the light of the forest giving it an eerie and ethereal feel. “Nothing is between us. He made that clear. As for what he said, it’s none of your business.” He moved around them, but Kili was quicker- grabbed his arm and yanked.

            “Uncle!” He cooed, whimpering then- “This used to be fun.” Thorin let his eyes pierce the ground. “This used to be about a book and an adventure and you two and—“

            “It’s not about us,” Thorin glared. “It… it never was.” He yanked his arm from the youth, though he gave far easier than Thorin expected. “This isn’t a vacation. It was never planned to be. We haven’t had contact with Gandalf for nearly two months, this…” _hurts._ “This is about a business venture.”

            “No,” Kili whined. “It’s about a book, Uncle.”

            “I thought it was too,” Thorin lowered his eyes- then raised them. “I want to get out of this damnable forest with no other mishaps. Could the two of you do that for me?” Thorin asked, but for a long while they just stood there, eyeing one another. “I’m done playing around, I am. I’m at wits end. Let’s get out of the forest and just… see where things are from there, hmm?”

            “But what about Mister Bilbo?” Fili finally asked. “Where does he fit in?” Thorin stilled and an icy clutch held him, gripped at his heart and spread it’s chills throughout his body. “You like him—“

            “A mistake,” Thorin corrected. “It’s been righted.”

            They would not get another word from their Uncle that night.

            Despite their talks, it only seemed that the closer they came to leaving the forest, the deeper and darker Thorin became, entangled in his own problems. He outright ignored animals and scenery he had wanted to see before- urged the writer to hurry up with writing or gazing. He rushed the brothers to find food, to set camp, draw up camp—

            He was in a hurry and the others were _not_ having it. Bilbo outright told Thorin that if he did not stop for a break he would just have to leave the writer in the forest alone. Thorin did stop, but not without a flurry of curses and snarls for him to hurry up and catch his breath. Realizing he’d yelled at the writer was one thing, seeing the shock and then pure anger flourish upon his cheeky face had Thorin regretting the decision to even _reply_ with words. He could have just not said a word, could have just stopped.

            Fili and Kili tried to the lighten the mood, though more often than not, their Uncle would press forward faster, and they would have to cease their fun and catch up. Their talks eventually dwindled to meager conversation, until they traversed the forest in silence, not meeting one another’s eyes for fear of incurring the wrath of the adventurer. When they had crossed into a more vine-covered part of the forest- Thorin stopped them.

            He looked about with a bit of worry and Fili asked what it was- “Apes.” Thorin whispered. “We need to be more careful from here on out- they can be dangerous if we are not respecting their territories- they should have young with them.” Though it seemed the mood had lightened, they did not spend a lot of time in the viney jungle- in fact, it seemed Thorin urged them on with a whip.

            Kili had given up trying to abide by his Uncle’s rules- and when he saw a group of baboons, he took the risk, nudging Bilbo who paused. He tossed a cut open fruit towards the group and a few descended, then… began to make their way cautiously towards Kili and Bilbo. Kili drew his machete out, however, though tossing a few more fruits out. A few younger baboons crept forward to sit and eat, Bilbo cooing quietly.

            Fili had turned and saw the troupe of monkeys behind them, ignoring his Uncle entirely. They watched as the troupe came and settled, playing and romping around- when they moved to leave, the troupe followed with a few hollers. Bilbo was unaware, but Kili quickly tugged Bilbo back from tossing another fruit-

            When they turned and continued with haste, the calls did not cease, and soon it was above them-

            “What the hell is going on?” Thorin hissed quietly as he had rounded a trunk of a dead tree, seeing the troupe of baboons cooing and calling. Thorin growled and swallowed, coming down with a ducked head and hunching a bit. He knocked Kili on the back of his head, along with Fili too. “The hell is wrong with you two?” he growled.

            “Th-Thorin, it’s not a big deal,”

            “Shut it, Master Baggins,” Thorin yanked his nephews close and pushed them forward- “Get moving.” He pointed and glared at the writer who tutted. Thorin turned back to the baboons and sliced a potent-smelling fruit, tossing them far behind the troupe. They did lose their interest in Thorin for the fruit and the four men scurried forward, putting several hundreds of feet between them and troupe of baboons. When they came to a flat landing, a large lake nearby, Thorin cornered is nephews. “Maker, what in the hell is wrong with the two of you? Feeding them?” He pointed back and they both shrank a bit.

            “Th-They were just wandering by,” Kili interjected.

            “Yes, you should have let them wander by,”

            “Thorin,” Bilbo tugged upon the adventurer. “I understand we’re short on time—“

            “Do you?” he snarled.

            “I do, but you fed animals too,” the writer continued. “What is wrong with—“

            “I’m sorry, did you know what those were?”

            “Monkeys,”

            “Very good, now tell me what kind?” Thorin was… fuming.

            “W… I don’t… know,” Bilbo swallowed.

            “That’s right, you _don’t_ know,” Thorin returned his glare to his nephews. “But you two do, don’t you?” They nodded slowly. “Now why don’t you tell our _dear writer_ what you were feeding?”

            “You shouldn’t talk down to them like that,” Bilbo ruffled. “Kili only fed them to pass the time, to… keep me entertained.” He reached for the nephews but they avoided Bilbo’s eyes. “If you hadn’t started rushing us past such amazing scenes, maybe they wouldn’t have fed them.”

            “We’re getting away from the issue, Master Baggins,” Thorin rubbed his nose. “What sort of monkeys were they?”

            “Baboons,” Fili murmured. “Baboons, Bilbo, are… not the nicest of the primates.”

            “And we don’t feed them because?”

            “They follow,” Kili bit his lip. “And have been known to attack if they think we’re hiding food from them.” Kili sighed. “Uncle, I’m sorry, I didn’t think they would follow us—“

            “You knew well enough _not_ to and did so anyway!” Thorin roared. “Did you not see that aggressive behavior? We were threatening their territory by not giving them food again.”

            “Thorin, they were just monkeys—“

            “Bilbo Baggins, when I have need of your consultation I will ask you of it!” Thorin folded his arms over his chest, glaring hard at the writer. “I do believe, here, out in the forest, I am the only thing keeping you alive and fed and safe.”

            “Giving me the courtesy to _survive_ instead of _live_ isn’t much for gratitude, Thorin,” The writer countered, but _did_ step back to allow the adventurer his space to fume in peace. “What’s changed? It’s no longer a bother, Thorin- we’re rushing forward as though death is chasing us from this forest. What has you running us into the dirt like cattle?” Bilbo flared, pressured by exhaustion and frustration to speak.

            “Well, perhaps the next time one of us slips down a rock face and is terribly wounded, we would be more careful of our steps,” Thorin snarled back. “I’m trying to make sure we all _do_ make it out whilst the three of you do not further disrupt our plans with your shenanigans!”

            “We haven’t seen anything since the waterfall—“

            “Because you fell!” And the silence seemed to echo up to the tips of the jungle trees, birds cawing eventually dying away.

            “Y… you,” Bilbo squeaked out. “You said you didn’t blame me for it.” Thorin lowered his eyes, in thought. “You were fine a-after- d-didn’t mind the extra time! What changed—“

            “Then maybe I have found someone to blame, Master Baggins!” Thorin finally let the fury unfurl. “This is not a guided tour for a vacation, nor a stroll through rolling hills. There is danger around us, and the only thing keeping the four of us alive and well is myself, it seems. I have not slept to assure that predators are not lurking- I do not rest to ensure that our lingering does not disturb the local fauna into a frenzy. I am _trying_ to get us out of this accursed forest that is sucking the very life from us all- pray, tell me Master Baggins, _dear writer,_ what sort of adventure did you expect this to be?” The writer choked on the words, the utter rage and humiliation Thorin unleashed was nothing more than his despise for him. H-Had to be. No amount of self-esteem issues could cause such discourse with him after such a long period of friendship.

            Right? “This is not something from your tales where we write it and turn the page and tis but a memory. This _is_ very real, I needn’t re-explain that to you- you’ve seen enough have you not?” A nod- “Then why don’t you stick to your books and writing, Master Baggins, and I will assure the four of us get _out_ of this jungle with little else to restrict us.” It was not just the nephews that had tensed nor the writer- in fact the four of them all looked ready to snap from hyper-tension. It was the writer who gave in first, a whimper of a noise curdled at his throat as he nodded his ascent.

            “I just-” he finally squeaked- “There used to be something whimsical about this Thorin.” He tried, one last time to see the reason behind this sudden madness- was it fever perhaps? A sickness? “This used to be about what a story this would tell.”

            “And a story it is, but it won’t be one if you continue to hurt this venture,” Bilbo shot his head up, and Thorin could have sworn he heard a snap in his neck from it- what was he saying. “I do not recall your obedience in much of this, and that has led to a fair amount of mishaps, on your account.” Bilbo’s mouth fell open, Kili reached for Thorin, to cease his words- was he even _aware_ of them? “Tell me, Master Baggins, what suffering _haven’t_ you caused out here, to the venture _or_ myself, at your own safety and precautious meddling insistence?”

            It was a single tear that fell over a round and flushed cheek that had Thorin stiffening- had him ceasing his rant mid-sentence. The tear held at his chin for a moment before a tremble at his lip caused it to drop to the forest floor. Another had begun to crest but the writer looked away then, let himself the dignity to hide his shame- those words, true or not had struck deep- deeper than the writer would have liked them to.

            And there was truth to them too- if Thorin had another issue, this had definitely been a major distraction as well. Thorin glared at the writer for a long while before his eyes turned to find his nephews- they seemed wholly aware of exactly what Thorin’s words had meant and the absolute disgust lingering on their faces had only made Thorin return his gaze to the writer.

            “I-” his voice broke but the writer cleared it a few times, raising his eyes confidently, though they wavered and watered. “I hadn’t known I was such a burden. I thought I had been making… some progress.” His voice was clipped but it could not hide the tears that gurgled his words. “I’ll… keep my head down then, Thorin. I hadn’t realized my inexperience would… cause this sort of distress. I had assumed…”

            “What did you assume?” Thorin needed to know. He _wanted_ to know what the writer had been brewing in his mind, what opinion the writer now _held_ of him- he believed it had not been very highly.

            “I assumed you were just… going through a crisis of self, not,... an _actual_ …” He sighed and waved his hand. “I assumed there was something else, something more. I’ve assumed _wrong_. I’ll not make that mistake again.” But that seemed to strike Thorin worse than any admission. “We should move on, shouldn’t we?” The writer managed to clear his tears with a groan- “I suppose asking if there is a stream up ahead for a bath would be too much?” Thorin hadn’t the words to say there was, nor apparently did his nephews stick around to ask if it was alright to speak with their Uncle as they pressed forward immediately.

            Thorin trailed after them wondering silently had the writer known he had cried?

            Had Thorin… _lost_ any chance of redemption or friendship with him?

            Over what?

            Lack of words and a possible misunderstanding?

_A torturous string of possibilities, all that I have caused._

            When they came to another stream, Thorin helped to make camp, though none helped him and when he couldn’t pitch their tent, it was Bilbo that came and asked if he needed help. Thorin looked to those once bright hazel eyes and they seemed a bit dim, a bit shallow. “Your arm still isn’t as strong, right?”

            “Thanks,” he murmured and together they pitched it, but Thorin insisted he make their beds, which seemed to have adverse effects upon the writer who frowned but walked away. Thorin cursed himself and when he tried to serve dinner, Bilbo ate quickly and said he would retire for rest and to write a bit.

            Thorin dreaded the moment the writer would choose to leave him alone, knowing his nephews had more than a few bones to pick with their dissenting Uncle. So he decided to get it over with, rising and coming before them. “If you want to talk, we won’t do it in camp. I don’t… have any right to ask we keep it quiet, but I ask all the same.” Thorin’s eyes returned to Bilbo’s tent- “Not in front of the writer. What you wish to tell him is your choice and I won’t restrain you from it. I’ve… caused enough harm it seems for a lifetime.” He took his pipe, took his tools to whittle and a new piece of wood and parted from the camp- far enough from prying ears, but close enough to keep within sight.

            It had been hour before his nephews finally crept forward to him, the adventurer had half expected them to not come at all with how long they postulated. At first, it had been silent, a cold brewing storm between the three men before Kili pressed forward.

            “Uncle, what happened between you and Master Boggins?” Thorin found his throat catching, but he decided it was best to cut the head off the snake.

            “I played a game,” Thorin offered, eyeing shutting, taking in a breath. “I played a game for something I thought I could win. Something I didn’t need to play a game to win, it seems.” His brows furrowed and Thorin drew his pipe from his mouth as he stroked his forehead in frustration. “What I had mistaken for interest was curiosity. I… pressed too much without making my own intentions clear.”

            “So what did you do?” Fili conceded, concern growing in his nephew’s voice.

            “I made the game more than a tease,” He could see how _stupid_ it was now, how _silly_ it truly seemed. It would have been _obvious_ to anyone pressing the game for more than chaste kisses was an obvious way to get _more_ \- a direct route into one’s breeches, Thorin had thought. “It was more than kisses- and it bothered him that our game was morphing into something more… sexual than he desired. He asked of my intentions.” Thorin bit out, it still stung, to think of it.

            “You…” Kili’s voice broke in disbelief. “He didn’t _want_ too--”

            “I didn’t-” Thorin jumped from the seat he’d had, eyes concerned, defensive- but they might as well have been guilty. “He enjoyed it, but without rightful intentions, he didn’t want more. Maker, I want to keep him.” Thorin exhaled thickly, feeling emotions swell in his throat and choke the air from his lungs. “His friendship, his mere company is worth more than anything this trip could offer me.”

            “You aren’t exactly doing a fantastic job at even being a friend,” Fili countered, his arms folding over his chest with distrust.

            “I didn’t say I was doing a marvelous job at it, either,” Thorin admitted, a sour smile spreading over his lips in a curl. “I took advantage of his interests, without knowing the full extent of them.”

            “You told him then,” Kili caught. “You told him you liked him? I… what did he say?” It surprised the adventurer that Kili had believed so _hard_ the writer would be interested in him. That there was not a shadow of doubt in his nephew made Thorin grow nervous.

            “That all I needed to explain was the game was for curiosities sake,”

            “So you didn’t actually _tell_ him,” Kili argued and with their Uncle’s silence the nephews heaved sighs as strong as winds.

            “There is nothing to go on,” Thorin corrected them and they glared though said nothing. “If there was something I misread, there is nothing more for me to do than _pray_ I can make the rest of this journey worth all our interests.” He coursed a hand through unruly hair and started to rise.

            “But you never told him,” Fili stopped his Uncle- “You never actually _told_ him what you told us. What we’d been pressing you to do.”

            “Uncle, you _like_ him,” the younger cooed, tugging at his brother’s shoulder as if that could make the argument more convincing. “We’re sure he likes you back, why, why didn’t you just…” Kili became too upset to finish, baffled truly, by his Uncle’s dishonesty.

            “Because you don’t like him,” Fili saw. Fili was always the first to catch on- to see the flicker of truth in his Uncle’s face before his brother. Thorin’s head was bowed and he was caught between longing and losing. “You don’t like him you actually… fell for him.” Kili’s eyes owled at the words- and then he saw it too. The need. The desire bubbling…

            The pain of letting him go. Of speaking the wrong words without apologies that could mend the damage.

            “You _do_ actually _love_ him,” Kili whispered, his voice barely audible, and for Thorin, it mimicked how he felt- fleeting and desperate, too proud to admit his mistakes, too weak to admit he loved. “Uncle you can’t just let this go-”

            “Do _not_ say a word of this to him!” He snarled at them both, but it was not with anger or upset, it was betrayal and suffering.

            A terrible sadness had buried itself within. An unending sort.

            “You mean that all those sappy lines _were_ really for him?” Kili encouraged, but his brother nudged him and Thorin gave in with a sigh.

            “Yes, and I’ve ruined those chances, if there were any to begin with-” He conceded. “Do not speak with him about this. I’ll… handle it.”

            “Uncle you tried, and it failed, miserably,” Fili added and Thorin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

            “Yes, well, I didn’t say I would do it right the first time,” he countered with a growl. “Let it be. The choices have been made and I must deal with those consequences.”

            “We just want to see you happy,” the brunette murmured- “He was happy too, you know.”

            “I am aware,” he conceded and his nephews eventually took their leave of their Uncle, seeing he had no more conversation to give, wallowing in a defeat that never had to be. The brothers returned to find the writer waiting at the fire nervously, hands wringing together. He perked at their return, stepping towards them with curiosity- concern.

            “Is Thorin… alright?” he confessed- he looked eager which made the brothers exchange mischievous looks.

            “Well, alright, I suppose,” Kili glanced back with a shrug. “I think he would be more interested in throwing us to the wolves if we… hassle him any more.”

            “But… he is alright?” Bilbo’s eyes peered into the darkness only to make out a faint glow of Thorin’s form and the embers of his pipe.

            “More or less,” Fili answered and his eyes settled to Bilbo who seemed _far_ more perky than before- far more… _eager_ to speak with their Uncle. “We uh, gave him a piece of our mind, so be assured, we did defend you.”

            “I was just… worried for him,” Bilbo admitted, concealing whatever he was truly thinking behind concern. “I never expected Thorin to have… gone off in such a manner before.” There was honesty in his voice, a bit of fear. “You did let him know, too, that I’d have forgiven him?”

            “That’s a lot sooner than us, even,” the brunette chimed, huffing. “But more or less, he is aware of being an ass.” Both brother’s settled looking in their Uncle’s direction. “Do you?”

            “Of course I do,” Bilbo said quickly then, cleared his throat. “I can’t believe that a week or two of being late truly incited such wrath.” the writer admitted- “I’ve written far too many stories to believe that an outbreak like that is over a few mishaps and delays.” Hazel eyes flitted to Thorin who had remained cast in shadow, seemingly unmoving. “It hurts, to think some part of my presence caused that to come to a head…” the writer took another breath and turned his gaze back to the brother’s then. “If… he doesn’t already know, could you let him know I forgive him- and a conversation couldn’t hurt?” They nodded, and the writer smiled, though it was strained still, there was a skip to his step as he returned to bed-

            Something made both the brother’s confused as to the excitement in the writer’s step.

            When Thorin returned he found his nephews beaming and he eyed them before they giggled and stood.

            “We were thinking,”

            “And you know how we get,” Fili finished.

            “We thought perhaps you should know that, we were fools,” Thorin’s brows rose high on his forehead. “And… we did give you plenty of rightful cause to get angry with us. And we’re sorry. And… forgive your…”

            “Outburst?” Thorin finished, knowing both were still a bit frightened of their Uncle’s demeanor and attitude. “I am… undeserving of it, but--”

            “That’s not all,” Kili interrupted, ceasing their Uncle’s acceptance-

            “Master Boggins wants you to know he forgives you too,” this… made Thorin still completely, glued to his spot. “He… Bilbo wanted the chance to talk to you too. Sometime.” It was with this they bid their Uncle a swift goodnight and tucked themselves within their tent. Thorin could have _sworn_ he heard them stifling their laughter but he chose not to voice it and turned then, towards his own tent. He stood before it for a few hesitant moments before slipping within it, tying it up.

            He turned and saw the writer, asleep, curled on _Thorin’s_ side of the bedding, head and chest tucked upon his pillow, journal and pen still caught in hands as if he’d just passed out. He thought the writer looked content, happy even in his slumber and carefully drew pen and journal from his clutches when a few pages fell out-

            Sketches. Thorin wondered when the writer had done them but as he set the pen aside he saw that a few were of him. Curious he shifted through the loose pages- a few had been of the animals, others of the passing landscapes, barely there details from their short breaks, he thought, skimming them. He caught one then, of himself, brooding, angry even. Thorin snorted and wondered when the writer had managed to capture his anger without inciting more.

            However, the next had Thorin relenting- Thorin was resting against a tree, obviously stress still apparently in the way his body was stiff- or perhaps it was just the way the writer had sketched him that made him so. Either way, Thorin _felt_ much like this picture, exhausted and feeling silly.

            The last was his favorite- a picture of Thorin smiling. Small, albeit hidden by many shadows but present. This looked fairly recent, but Thorin was no expert in knowing when the writer ever had time to sketch, let alone _when_ he did at all. He glanced to the writer who huffed in his sleep, but nuzzled Thorin’s pillow all the same, snuggling back into the depths of peaceful sleep. Thorin eyed the picture for a moment longer before tucking it back within his journal and setting it aside.

            He did not sleep immediately, but watched the writer for some time, watching him roll and huff, sometimes stretch or snore until he settled into the blankets, listening to the quiet of the evening and the sight of the writer. It was as his eyes became heavy that he finally felt disturbed, a head and a set of hands knocking at his arms had him turning to find the writer trying to claw his way towards him. A twist had the writer now nuzzling against his arm, then wiggling upon his shoulder for sleep instead of the pillow below.

            His heart clenched at the sight- after all that had happened, the writer could still find comfort--unconscious or no--in Thorin. _Maker, what I have done?_ He asked, though knew he’d never receive an answer.

_My little burglar, what have I done?_


	23. Limerence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is sort of hard to see past the destruction sometimes, to see good and life and love within the ashen remnants- but if your heart should carry you, give it strength to do so.
> 
> Limerence: technical term for having a crush on a person; a very intense feelings of affection towards somebody else that last at a much longer time span - months, years, or even a lifetime - than a normal crush (wordstuck.co.vu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we are- I did edit most of it, as did my beta, so, hopefully all is well and in order! Won't spoil it- but you all should be very very happy for this.
> 
> I'm more or less happy with it! (If anyone noticed, chapters are getting progressively longer- as I'm getting progressively MORE involved with the story- and I can't cut them short you know)
> 
> There ARE references, to other "parts" of this "series" about Fili and Kili getting together, etc, so just a warning- don't be confused when its mentioned like "since when- did I miss a part?" And with that... ENJOY.
> 
> Comments allllllways appreciated here!

**Chapter 23: Limerence**

            Thorin woke, bleary eyed and feeling several _hundred_ pounds heavier than he usually felt. The weight of the world began to settle around him again, recollection of the day before filtered behind his fluttering eyelids. He grunted, opening his eyes to-

A mop of curls, tousled by sleep, resting upon his chest, content, at peace. The writer had curled against the adventurer sometime in the middle of the night- more than he remembered. _Well that explains the heavy feeling._ Thorin rubbed his face then, taking a deep breath, and letting it out. What to do? Likely, this would humiliate the both of them and they wouldn’t be able to look at one another without blushing. Or insults flying.

On the other hand, it wasn’t like they would be making a lot of eye contact _any_ way. Something about the writer finding Thorin a better pillow warmed the adventurer’s heart, but still festered concern and hesitation. He had hurt him, even if forgiveness was on the writer’s mind, it did nothing to soothe the adventurer of his discourse and frustration. Besides, the writer had only found solace within the adventurer because he needed the comfort- Thorin had once been a place of comfort.

Was he still such a thing in the writer’s eyes?

Maker, did Bilbo truly think that Thorin was worth all the grief, for friendship? Bilbo either had to be a great and immensely understanding and caring person, or he was a bit mad himself. Either way, the adventurer didn’t spend much time deliberating upon it, he was instead, distracted when the writer nuzzled his chest, hummed as he begun to wake from deep sleep. It was time to part ways. Thorin very carefully wiggled, dropping the writer to his pillow and tucking him back into the blankets. Bilbo hummed again and snuggled against the pillow, undisturbed. Thorin dressed, stepping out with a stretch, grabbing his pipe and lighting it. The sun had barely risen, peaking between the thick branches, the sky a dusted violet blue, a few twinkling stars speckling the waning night sky.

It might have been a new day, but that did not change what happened the days before, and where he was with the writer and his nephews too. He had a lot to make up for, eyeing their tents. He glanced to his nephews tent, and for a moment, thought he should rouse them all. He ducked his head within his nephews tent, out of curiosity. Both were wiped, arms and legs spread out, not caring they were strewn across faces and at odd angles- they had been worn too.

Exhausted. Thorin pressed them all. He felt dark circles under his own eyes  and they strained to keep open even as he took a step back, gazed back to the firepit with a yawn. He knelt to rouse the fire again, packed a few of their belongings before slipping to his tent and drawing his hunting knife and bow out. They hadn’t gone hunting in some time, their supply of meat long gone, and in place, rich vegetables substituted the need for protein. He would bring something back worth reconciliation, at least, their forward journey would be a full and hopefully delicious one.

He crept quietly into the forest like the predators they had sought to avoid, shoes slipping noiselessly into the dirt below to sneak between plants and trees. He tracked a group of small wild deer, encroaching into their vicinity within a couple of hours. He moved himself west, moving himself down wind to make his approach easier. He drew his bow up and aligned an arrow, drawing it back, and wincing painfully as his shoulder screamed in agony, the heat of his wound resurfacing. The adventurer though willed himself to ease it away, exhaling slowly to keep quiet amongst his prey. One jerked up, but was not looking at him, and eventually ducked its head back down to graze. Thorin ground his teeth together as he aligned a shot- it was a buck, fat with spring on the approach, ready to mate. Steady, he told his arm, as though it would listen to the verbal command- he let the arrow loose, whistling through and knocking the deer just under the jaw. It squealed and Thorin remained low, drawing another arrow in case he needed to knock it to its feet. The others scattered and the buck attempted to flee but did fall.

Thorin _thanked_ a variety of gods he did not have to fire another arrow with the way his arm was pulsing in pain. He trotted to the buck and kneeled down, drawing his blade out and quickly ending the creature’s suffering with a huff and a bow of his head. That had been easier than he expected- well, perhaps he’d done his time and karma was _well behind_ him.

Hauling the kill back to camp was a task, and his shoulder was fairly sore after stringing the animal up near their camp. He retrieved his knives after washing his hands, putting on a pot of water to clean up first before returning to skin the buck. It was nearly noon when Thorin had finished, wiping his forehead with a huff. The deer was skinned and what was left would only attract larger prey and scavengers. He first went to drop a few slices over the fire and some within the pot of water he had replaced several times throughout his skinning, before taking the husk down from the trees and taking it far enough away to not (hopefully) be an issue later.

Bilbo was the first to wake, stretching, a bit uncomfortable- he had dreamt he slept upon the adventurer, that he felt a hand curling into hair again, felt a rumble of laughter. He whined as he stretched, looking about for Thorin. He wasn’t in the tent, and the spot beside him was cold. Bilbo poked his head out, wincing at first when the sun caught him in the eye. There was a pot of something on the fire, water and food he presumed- and it was strong- no sign of the brothers either. Bilbo slipped his shoes on, coming out of the tent when Thorin strut through the thicket and trees, blood all over his chest and shirt-

“Thorin!” Bilbo cried, scrambling and Thorin looked up surprised as the writer ran forward, patting at his chest and gasping- “You’re hurt!”

“Er,” Thorin chuckled, licking his lips. “Hardly.” He held up his gutting knives and the antlers of the buck, though only two prong, a souvenir at least. “Went hunting.”

“O-Oh,” Bilbo stepped back, eyeing him- that sight. He had seen it once, once was more than enough, and though he had been reassured, it took several moments for his hands to cease their trembling. “S-Sorry.” Thorin bowed his head.

“Sort of a challenge doing most of it one handed,” Thorin gestured at himself- “Hence why its all over. Call me hopeless, shoulder’s sore from it too.” Though the stir from the writer was completely unintentional and Thorin _did_ feel quite guilty for being the cause of it, there was something that lit in his chest at the concern, the fear that had filled the writer’s eyes. So his nephews hadn’t been lying when the writer forgave him, it seemed. Thorin moved back towards camp, Bilbo following after quickly, offering to assist if Thorin needed or desired it. Thorin glanced to the meat upon the fire, and the writer instantly took over cooking as Thorin washed his hands nearby in a separate dish, letting his blades soak as well. He moved to check on the meat he had curing in the sun on a string before returning, eyeing the writer. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oddly enough,” Bilbo was a smiley sort, Thorin had learned. No matter what the day looked like, he could wring several smiles from the writer without even trying, he wondered… why he was smiling now.

“Good,” Thorin returned, moving to find his pipe and have a smoke, to relax his shoulder and hopefully relieve its soreness. “I’m glad you slept well. I…” Thorin then wondered if all Bilbo was waiting for was a verbal apology from the day before. It was obvious that Bilbo did not hold anything against the adventurer, though Thorin partially wished he would _at least_ remain upset for a few more _days._ “I am… sorry for my words. They were… uncalled for and I wish to apologize for their cruelty. You did not deserve my wrath.” Bilbo glanced up, blinking with large eyes- ah, he was _definitely_ not expecting an apology then.

“I had just… assumed you were troubled,” Bilbo giggled then, and found Thorin’s brows furrowed. “You know, you could have just _talked_ to me. Told me.”

“Told you what?” Thorin blinked, and Bilbo stilled, his smile slowly fading into a frown, pursed lips. Bilbo seemed to contemplate his next words as if he had been given some sort of knowledge he wasn’t sure how to explain.

Bilbo had been curious all his life, and the reaction Thorin had the day before, let alone the secretive conversation the adventurer had with his nephews, but what the topic had been about. Eavesdropping _also_ was not something he partook in either, but curiosity would prove useful. He’d only heard a little, what he could decipher over hushed whispers and distances- but he had been fairly certain that whatever ailed Thorin was _not_ Bilbo himself.

In fact, the nephews seemed rather _eager_ that what ailed Thorin was emotions- particularly _one_ emotion _for_ the writer. And now, stuck in this awkward conversation, the writer wondered if he had misheard or misunderstood- the nephews had returned and seemed unable to speak their mind or what had transpired between them and their Uncle to the writer last night…

He only assumed… well. Maybe it was just another presumption on his part. He had _hoped_ Thorin would take the effort to speak with him.

“Um…” Bilbo scratched at his jaw- did… Thorin… _not_ have an interest in conversation, or was he ailed more by confusion? “Just… whatever is… bothering you.” Bilbo bowed his head then, quickly, embarrassed. “I wouldn’t ever judge you Thorin, you ought to know that.”

However, Thorin didn’t respond immediately. It was a while, as their breakfast- or lunch rather- cooked that Thorin rolled over the words and considered what the writer was offering. Maybe it was just his own worry and unsettled fears of pressing the writer in a direction he did not wish to go, that made him cautious and silent. Maybe he was just too nervous to admit _to_ the writer what it was his nephews had learned. Either way, Thorin took his sweet time before responding, and when he did, moved from his seat and sat beside the writer, a smile encroaching slowly, still unsure.

“Considering all the things I _have_ told you, both in lighter and… darker times,” Thorin lit his pipe, drawing a quick breath of it to kindle the embers- “I am surprised you have remained.”

“Because I have so many choices, out here in a _jungle,”_ Bilbo teased, his eyes alit with mirth, smirking. “Besides, we’re friends aren’t we? Despite… past events, that has to count for something? You could tell me anything.”

“You offer a lot,” Thorin chuckled. “You might hear more than you’re prepared or expecting.” The adventurer gave a gentle nudge of his elbow to the writer who returned the playful gesture, moving then to rise, heading to finish cleaning his blades.

“So, you’ll tell me?” Thorin froze midstep and turned to face Bilbo, a curious face, an _open_ face. Patience. Thorin was actually _startled_ by that, blinking for several moments before laughing a bit, ducking his head out of embarrassment.

“Soon, maybe,” he added with a nudge of his face with his shoulder, rubbing at an itch. “Maybe.” He blushed and turned back to his knives, keeping his back to the writer, unable to face that open face for the moment, his heart thrumming with hope. _Stop that,_ he chided to himself, but it would not cease. Thorin couldn’t find it in himself to tell it again. When his nephews did finally step out, food was ready to be served and they were startled the sun was so high in the sky, and fearfully eyed their Uncle who seemed to not notice the comment of it being past noon. They also, panicked at the side of blood on their Uncle, though spotting the deer relaxed, which had made adventurer and writer chuckle together at the sight of the whining worried brothers.

Fili and Kili were utterly _confounded_ at the scene- Thorin and Bilbo laughing as though the day before had not occurred. They made eyes at the Uncle, slowly questioning if maybe the reason for this congenial air was he had explained what he felt to Bilbo. He gave a shake of his head, believing he understood what they were signaling and instantly they deflated, dragging their feet to take a seat. It was only when Thorin was drawing his undershirt off that conversation spiked- he tossed the shirt into a pot of boiling water.

“What did you do that for?” Bilbo gasped- not that he’d been _using_ that particular pot for anything but-

“Animal blood will surely attract more… aggressive creatures I’m not willing to handle,” he tossed his head back to the curing meats behind him- “That will attract them as it is, so we should pack up as soon as we’re able and put plenty of distance between this place and us.” He looked down at himself, the blood having soaked through the thin material to his skin and he groaned, huffing at the mess. “I’m hoping they’re more interested in that carcass, but…” he gave a loose shrug and fetched a cloth and spilled some water from his knapsack onto it to clean himself up- though reaching his arm was a struggle, but the writer did not offer, allowing Thorin to work up either the courage to ask or struggle alone.

He did ask quietly and Bilbo leapt to assist, seating the adventurer down and asking his nephews to start to pack camp up. The air about them was stifled with discomfort and caution, but as camp was packed and food settling happily in their bellies, it began to fade into memory and laughter soon filled their conversation. Before they moved forward, Thorin ordered them to stop and taking a breath, bowed his head. “I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I have no right to ask forgiveness, but… hope you can. There has been a lot… weighing on my mind.” He took a breath and shifted uncomfortably. “It was not right to take my frustrations out on the three of you and I should have controlled it- I am sorry.”

“And… what you said about me?” The voice was tentative, but he knew it belonged to Bilbo. Knew the writer would be the first to speak.

“In some respects, yes, with how I chose to phrase them, no,” Bilbo listened, intently. “No, is the overall answer. I should have… berated my nephews more gently, and not lashed out. And I should not have placed the blame on you at all.” The adventurer felt something in him clench, doubt resurfaced, worry too. “I found the guilt within myself.”

“Uncle you couldn’t have prevented falling, let alone causing injury,” Fili countered, but Thorin just quirked a brow in silent disagreement.

“All the same, our delays were no one to blame, and I do take responsibility for… the lack of fun missing recently,” he bowed his head lowly, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose to calm his nerves.

“Well, all is forgiven,” Kili piped in with a beam. “We shouldn’t have fed the baboons, either, as you’ve told us before. I just… was hoping to brighten to atmosphere.” Thorin gave a nod to the youngest, but Bilbo squeaked in a cough.

“And… I shouldn’t have… chimed in my opinion, at least, not so directly,” He rubbed at his neck. “So, I forgive you and apologize too.” Understanding filling in place of the awkward tension, the four moved on from their camp. They travelled much longer than normal, spanning into early evening, but no one complained- whether Thorin believed them to be in a good mood or _truly did_ wish for a break, he wouldn’t know either. He’d hope it was the first, and that things were well on their way to moving _up and on._

Thorin however, was extremely tired, the few times they did take a break it was the writer who came to him to wake him from the ten minute nap and ask after his wellbeing. And each time, he’d flush but tell the writer he was fine, quickly parting in embarrassment.

This was how the next two weeks were spent, plowing through the forest at a decent pace and in high spirits. They found themselves on the 16th day upon a cliffside overlooking the flower fields of the south, ready and in bloom for the warm weather and rainy winter had been a blessing. There was a small town a days’ journey  away from their point, another town perhaps a weeks’ distance and further on the horizon was a much larger city in the grayed distance, assumingly, where the festivals Thorin had spoken of would be taking place.

Bilbo was gaping at the scenery, awing at its beauty and colors when Thorin glanced to him, raising his camera from his chest for a few photos. Thorin had kept mostly to himself, during their trek out of the rainforest, since making his amends, choosing silence over expressing his attitude.

Because truthfully, it hadn’t been resolved.

He still pined.

A conversation he had yet to initiate. He wondered if it ever would.

“Happy to be out of it?” Thorin asked quietly to the writer, draping an arm over his shoulder, setting his camera back to his chest. “I imagine Gandalf expects several chapters done too.”

“We finished nine,” Bilbo argued with a chuckle. “He would have had plenty of time to spread seven and eight out over our time perusing the vastness of a _jungle._ ” Bilbo glanced upwards to Thorin- “We’ve got three chapters.”

“Needless to say, I am sure my fall had limited some inspiration,” they both were able to laugh and the writer agreed as Thorin drew back to snap his photos, setting his things aside and kneeling down to capture a few sights. Of course, when the writer came within his frame again, he hesitated. He’d missed _many_ opportunities to lock away memories of writer in the last several weeks- would he pass up this one?

A few snaps- and Thorin looked over the edge of the camera, Bilbo drawing his pack around to bring the camera Thorin had bought him out, fussing with it for a moment before snapping something in the distance. Thorin grinned and snapped it, smirking brightly until Bilbo had met Thorin’s eyes through the lense of his camera.

“Oh,” Bilbo wiggled- “I’m not… in your shot or anything?” Bilbo looked around as though he could see what Thorin had been staring at. Thorin was given a taste of the ground he would have to make up for, and he stood, moving his camera aside, reaching for the writer’s shoulder.

He hadn’t expected the writer to cave, and certainly hadn’t expected the embrace to come as easily as it did. The writer all but collapsed into the adventurer’s chest, a heavy and shaky sigh escaping as they held onto one another as if they’d both vanish from the other’s hold.

“Not this time, Master Baggins,” he managed to say with a clear voice and the writer stifled laughter in Thorin’s chest. Maker, had it been such a _long_ time since they just embraced? Just enjoyed the other’s presence for what it was- warm, happy, enjoyable? Bilbo would admit he was startled, but it needn’t be something he mention then, or ever, truly. He sighed when Thorin had brought him close, if it had been intention to start a hug, Bilbo did not care, for this was what _he_ wanted. “Definitely not in the way.” It was whispered, but the writer smiled, hidden against the adventurer’s chest, allowing the moment to take him away- even if it was just a brief moment.

The following day had found them amongst _humankind_ once more, the jungle of stone and brick. They had purchased a few goods sorely missed in the jungles and found a cozy inn run by a pair of brothers- the moneyman and the other near-deaf, but a contact of Gandalf. Oin had informed the group that Gandalf expected a reply much earlier than this and the four of them exchanged looks, explaining what happened and Bilbo offered to write a letter to him to assure Gandalf all was well. Gloin _did_ , despite being a money-haggler, give them better rooms than most who were looking for rooms, and encouraged them to stay, of course, as long as they had the coin. Bilbo was eager to send chapters off, and thus gave Oin nine and ten along with a letter apologizing for their delay and what had happened.

The four had returned to their rooms, excited for a proper bath, though there were only two, none of them held reservations for sharing, though this greatly surprised the Durin family by their fourth companion. Whatever issues had manifested in the jungles it seemed that they had all but dissipated with a warm bath and a hot meal in their bellies.

They spent quite a fewy days there, healing and resting in warm beds, protected from bugs and the irritating humidity the jungle harbored. The sounds of man over the creatures calls in the wild were definitely a disturbing factor for the writer, who had grown accustomed to the chirps and chimes of the night; the dying sound of a market to the eventual calm of evening, excluding the few drunkards commotion in side alleys was keeping the writer awake. Eventually the writer, unable to sleep, _had_ to question his room companion.

“Thorin?” A squeak in the darkness. “Are you awake?” There was a groan, and some shuffling of covers, answered Bilbo’s question, guilt falling upon him.

“I am now,” Thorin said behind a yawn, stretching under the blankets. He huffed against his pillows, rolling to face the writer’s bed, propping an arm up, finding in the darkness the dim outline of the writer. “What is it?”

“I uh… heard there was going to be a meteor shower,” Bilbo murmured. “Talked with a few of the locals, and confirmed it with Oin the other day. I believed it was going to be in a week- two days before spring, I recall.” Thorin hummed for the writer continued- “I think it will be clear, as far as I know, I thought, perhaps we could catch it, I don’t know if your camera could capture it…”

“We can certainly see it,” Thorin stretched again, forcing his eyes open again, though the writer would have never known, so he let his head hit the pillow again. “If we stay away from the towns’ lights, should be a perfect evening to see it.” He groaned- “You said… next week? Day before spring?”

“Yeah, around that time, I know…” Bilbo sighed. “I know the festival isn’t for another two weeks, I thought, it… might be something worth catching, if… if we can.”

“Well, if we leave in a few days, we can get far enough away to catch it without disruption,” Thorin murmured but allowed his eyes to close again, sleep had eluded him for a while and having a comfort such as a bed was hard to resist- even with speaking to the writer. “We’d… have to go through the flower fields first.” Thorin said after a moment- “Hope you don’t have allergies.” Bilbo laughed to this.

“They aren’t really called _the_ flower fields are they?”

“Fields, hills,” Thorin snorted with a wave of his hand. “Place of flowers, plains of flowers. They aren’t particularly called _anything.”_ Both shared another laugh again and Thorin exhaled loudly, catching the attention of the writer. “I am glad you decided to stay with us.” Bilbo couldn’t tell if Thorin was staring at him, but he sure _felt_ like that intense stormy gaze was resting upon him, and he squrimed for it. “Regardless if you had a choice or not to leave. I think I found something far more precious and wondrous on this venture with you than _just_ penning this book.” And the silence trailed between them for several moments, Bilbo feeling himself glow with embarrassment, his cheeks red, bashful and… excited- it swirled in his gut and brought him completely out of sleep.

The dim sounds of the inn began to settle down, and the town seemed to grow that much more quiet with the evening drawling on. The only sounds that had remained thunderous to Bilbo _happened_ to be their breathing and the thudding in his chest, which he tried to quell with a grip.

“So, what did you find, Thorin?” Bilbo finally asked after a long pause. Then.

A huff. “Thorin?” a toss and then another snort which turned into a hushed snore had Bilbo grinning. He chuckled and tucked himself back into bed. Though thrilled and curious for the adventurer’s answer, he thought it best to let him rest.

For now.

The end of the week came quickly. They packed their goods and bought several more for their travels. It would be a far easier trek than most of what they had experienced last several months, the area mostly filled with valleys and hills of flowers and trees, a few lakes that would sprinkle the landscape. Thorin admitted the only real danger they might encounter were the roaming herbivores, rhinoceros, maybe even the elephants would traverse out of the jungle to the large freshwater lakes.

The only danger he found himself in, was keeping his words and keeping his frustrations in check, though he didn’t voice _that_ particular concern aloud. They had only received one letter by the time they left, Gandalf informed them he would forward the others to the next city, which had been happy to hear of their safe arrival, and that their book was _very_ well received and eager to have more missives as soon as they jot them down. There were suggestions of imagery to spot the book, in a final format, and took the time to forward them a few different artists for starters. Bilbo managed to scramble a short letter in return for Oin to send before they had left assuring the editor they would have answers by the time they reached their destination.

On the course of their journey, Thorin showed a few pictures of the festival that happened in spring in the next city to Bilbo who awed at them. It was a city shrouded in thin maples and bamboo, and several fruit orchards. Their colors matched the brightness of the flowers they were parading through, Bilbo becoming more excited about the festival which prompted his next concern. “Are we going to make it in time, for the festival?” When Thorin glanced to him, blinking, Bilbo began to clarify, finding his nerves bouncing. “I mean, do you think we might… be able to go? Will we at least be able to _see it?”_

“Did you want to?” It wasn’t a question that should have thrown the writer so, but he stared at Thorin for several long moments, blinking. Thorin had shown the writer many gorgeous sights, but he had never directly _asked._ Mostly, he knew the writer would not have known of these places specifically, Bilbo understood, but the question caught him off guard. “I didn’t have explicit plans or intentions, but, we can see it. I’ve never been myself, at least, not on the participating in the festival per se. I have photographed the orchard it’s usually hosted in. It’s quite an event, fairly large for a festival.

“I… would like to,” Thorin’s eyes shined, as did his smile and Bilbo felt heat swell in his breast. “If we can. I would hate to drag an unwilling partner there.”

“I’d like to see it,” Thorin offered a genuine smile, finding hazel’s growing wide with disbelief. “I’ve never gone, as I said, could be fun. Could be terrible too.” Which caused the writer to chuckle, a blush lighting his cheeks.

“I would hope it isn’t terrible,”

“Could have allergies, don’t want to sneeze everywhere,” Thorin looked about. “Though, it is a good sign wandering through the flowers, haven’t started yet.” Bilbo laughed, and sure enough, no one had progressed into a frenzy of sneezes, and thus the outcome of the festival might turn out as good and wonderful as the writer had hoped it might.

They were a couple of days from a small town that laid before the larger and far more impressive city, evening had slipped by without a single remarkable event- Bilbo watching the night sky as though it would give him answers to the universe. And when the evening came and went there was a strange tug upon the writer as he looked to Thorin who looked just as disappointed by the lack of an eventful night.

He wanted… well there was a lot he wanted- a lot that had gone unsaid that night back at the waterfall. Hopes had been demolished, and Bilbo couldn’t help but think this must have been a large misunderstanding- he heard clear, Thorin had played a game and that was it.

There was no way, however, his verbal assaults had been over his struggling with self-esteem issues either- and the conversation he had peeked on- Thorin was fairly certain he _liked_ the writer a bit more than he was willing to admit. They had yet to speak of Thorin’s troubles, though the adventurer had no issues remaining close or letting the writer tend to his shoulder.

The meteor shower was something special- and not just because he hadn’t seen it before, but neither had Thorin. This… this could be his chance to find the answers he was looking for.

It took Bilbo courage then, the following morning, to tug Kili aside and ask him and his brother of aid. Bilbo had, overnight, grown slightly worried that the answers he might receive from Thorin might _not_ be the ones he wanted- but decided he had to hear them all the same. He asked the youth if they would give them the evening _alone_ for the meteor shower, but Kili didn’t need to hear another word.

He was grinning before Bilbo had even _finished._

Kili had soon parted from the writer without allowing him to finish, whispering against his brother’s ear Bilbo’s pleading question. Bilbo was then the target of grins and playful jibes that morning and afternoon. They assured they would _not_ intervene with their Uncles’ precious alone time and when Bilbo picked up on the use of _Uncles_ he felt his cheeks darken and he roared against their teasing. Thorin stepped between them, breaking up the teases, calling his nephews out, urging them cease the antics, before checking upon the writer who was no more capable of answering about his well-being than the brothers for their meddling.

A day from the small town, they camped nearby an oak tree upon rolling green hills that had sprung from once dried wheated plains. Bilbo was before the fire, his hands wrung together, the light cool breeze enough to bundle up with a single blanket, but nothing more, the fire more than enough to insulate against the gentle breeze. Bilbo was fussing, though Thorin did not notice the internal _struggle_ raging, his nephews did, deciding to pick up and leave the two alone for Bilbo to gain the courage-

They had to show they were keeping _their end_ of the bargain. They began to pack a few blankets, a sweet snack when Thorin caught them- “What on _earth_ do the two of _you_ have to do at this time?” Thorin questioned, eyeing them, having brought his focus from Bilbo’s journal to his nephews. “Where do you plan on going?” He nodded at them, pipe tucked in the corner of his lips.

“Well, not all of us are abstinent like you, Uncle,” Kili chimed as though it were a perfectly reasonable excuse for privacy. He brought himself up a bit taller, grinning- they had to at least _make it_ look as though they were not _plotting_ with their writer. “Some of us would like some privacy.” Thorin’s mouth parted a bit, not enough for his pipe to fall, but enough to elicit the stun Kili had hoped for.

“I… did not expect the two of you to be ones for _privacy,”_ Thorin raised a hand to rub his temple, suddenly wondering what had spurred them to desiring such a thing. Deciding he didn’t _really_ desire to know, he didn’t further question their motives.

“I mean, did you _want_ to hear-”

“No-” Thorin waved this time, both hands up, one flailing Bilbo’s journal to and fro. “Please, excuse yourself more often.” Thorin offered with a roll of wide and disturbed eyes, returning them to the journal, trying his best to focus on the neat hand-writing and not the giggles of his nephews.

“We won’t be far, Uncle,” Fili added in- “And we’ll be back shortly.” Thorin just continued to wave them gone, avoiding their eyes- the longer they were gone, the better, Thorin thought. The two hooked arms in good company, but they were not giggling as both writer and adventurer had imagined they might. Thorin met the writer’s eyes with disbelief and the writer just shrugged, partially as stunned as Thorin was.

“That was…” Thorin took a swallow, eyeing the fire then, trying to rid any ideas forming from his mind. He reached for a log and tossed it into the flames, pushing it around before sighing. “Well. Good to know they’re… uh… huh.”

“Surprised?”

“To say in the _least,”_ Thorin’s eyes owled a bit further before he refocused his attention to the journal.

“Boys will be boys,”

“Those _boys_ are up to something,” the adventurer argued. “My boys don’t just… you know well enough.”

“I imagine they’ve been working up to uh-” Bilbo recalled his impromtu lessons in the villages and towns before they reached the jungles with fondness and a bit of hilarity. “Whatever it is they’d like privacy for.”

“ ‘Working up to’?” Thorin’s eyes found the writer’s who had a new journal out on his lap.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said with disbelief. “You do _know_ they… have had their fair share of tumbles, together, I’d hop-”

“I don’t want to know,” Thorin said assured. “I will take… your word for… whatever they… Maker.” The adventurer closed the journal with a groan, chuckling however. “There went writing.”

“You probably don’t want to know,” Bilbo lowered his eyes then- _“I_ didn’t want to know.” This caused laughter to ease the surprise away. The writer though, struggled internally again, gut wrenching, knowing this was his chance, he raised his eyes back to Thorin then. The adventurer was staring down, head lowered as he rubbed his neck, his hair still tucked in a tight ponytail, strands had fallen loose at the back at his ears. Bilbo stared at Thorin for a long while, biting his lip as the adventurer attempted to relax, humming as he stretched then- “Will you… come with me?” Bilbo closed his journal as their eyes met over the fire. The writer pointed with his pen towards the oak tree, a deep green, nearly black, in the moon’s pale light. “I want to stargaze with you.”

“Stargaze?” Thorin looked up to the deep navy and charcoal of the skies, speckled in silver. “Look up, Master Baggins.”

“I meant lay down, point out constellations, that sort of stargaze,” Bilbo inclined his head to the oak tree nearby, bundling up the blanket upon his shoulders, but when the adventurer remained perched at his seat the writer turned. “Wait, you’ve never done this before?” The adventurer looked ready to protest what exactly he had been accused of _not_ doing but the writer was quicker- “Oh, come on. There is _finally_ something that _I_ can show _you.”_ He gave a tug at his arm, much like his nephews might, beckoning, questioning with a silent (and hopeful, Thorin might add) plea with his hazel eyes. Bilbo bent to their tent to retrieve his pipe as the adventurer stood and followed the writer to the oak tree, watching him unfurl the blanket, and flop down as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Sit already.” The writer leaned over, patting the other side of the blanket eagerly, his grin contagious. Bilbo lit his pipe as Thorin took a seat with a sigh, reclining back a bit to eye the writer. “I get to show off all the things _I know_. It’ll be an interesting change- I’ll never get a second chance at this.”

“To what? Stargaze with me?” Thorin let out a chuckle.

“No, silly,” Bilbo laid back down, eyeing the adventurer until he fell to his back as well. “I get to be the one to show you something breathtaking. And fun.” And for a brief moment their eyes flittered against the multitude of blinking lights caught in the deep darkness of their universe. “You really… _haven’t_ done this before?”

“Not once,” Thorin drew his pipe from his lips- “Not quite in this manner, no. I’ve mapped them before, during the seasons, I’m well aware of how to chart them and use them as guides for navigation.” He chanced looking over to the writer who was staring back, listening raptly. There was something utterly romantic and… strangely relaximg about this moment. Perhaps it was the spring breeze, cooling the heat of the day. Perhaps it was the stargazing itself, an act of intimate privacy usually occurred in the evening. “Although, I have the sense you’re enjoying this more because you have something over me, rather than the actual act.”

“It is hard to hide such excitement,” Bilbo chimed, propping himself up to an elbow to gaze down at Thorin. “I enjoy what it is we do together- more so when _I_ get to be the know-it-all.” They shared a laugh, but Bilbo’s eyes returned to Thorin’s face- more interested then, in mapping his expression, the lines at his eyes, the faded crease of his brow. “So, you’ve plotted them before. Constellations, and so on.” Thorin could only smile and looked to the night sky finding ones he’d always known, pointed out which sets of stars he had plotted- motioned where they were during the other seasons. But, honestly, his knowledge of the lore or mythology behind them was probably less for someone who had known what the constellations were _and_ had studied them a fair bit.

It wasn’t _surprise_ he felt when Bilbo was able to prattle off a story or the history of each constellation in the spring evening sky, it wasn’t even disbelief. Thorin could not explain what it was, listening to the writer point out stars, what their names were in ancient cultures, where he had learned this from- perhaps then, it might have been a bit of surprise, mixed with an eagerness to listen; learn.

Maybe it wasn’t even about what Bilbo was _saying_ but more the look on his face, the hopeful furtive glances he’d shoot to Thorin in between long monologues of _‘this constellation was…’_ and puffs of smoke from his pipe. The adventurer was gifted a marvelous sight he had not witnessed before- confidence simply oozed from the writer as he prattled on, would _perk_ when Thorin would say he had heard this before, or point out something he had learned. In fact, it seemed the writer would lean a hair closer to listen, would look directly at him as if he’d miss something. He’d never seen the writer completely thrilled and alight with knowledge in such a fashion- oh he’d seen a great _many_ things on the writer, but this stunning and brilliant person before him was just an _addition_ to all the wonderful things he’d witnessed with the writer.

It was the gentle lift and press of Bilbo’s arm upon his chest that drew Thorin back to the physical, drew Thorin into _watching_ the _writer_ more than the stars above. Bilbo would point, wave and flicker his hand towards the sky when he deemed necessary, and when it was at rest, it laid upon Thorin’s chest as though it belonged there. The adventurer was _not_ about to ruin the moments either by asking if it was ‘alright’ either. And soon the swirling troubles and doubts began to resurface-

Was he _truly_ going to let such a person slip through his fingertips out of fear?

A petty fear at that?

He wasn’t given much time to think before he was given a hefty shake and a single finger point to a shooting star- “Make a wish!” The writer’s eyes scrunched close and Thorin cocked a brow high on his forehead as the writer finally peaked open, a satisfied grin resting on his lips. “Did you make a wish?”

“Is that a serious question?” Thorin took a puff from his pipe- “Surely, you don’t actually _believe_ it would come true, do you?” It was playful and the writer didn’t look at all upset- in fact, it was he who gave a tender glare before blushing, giggling.

“I suppose it’s still naïve of me, but, I can hope can’t I?” Bilbo raised his eyes to the evening sky again. “Sort of a habit, reminds me of good times.”

“Probably shouldn’t do that in public too often, or announce it,” Thorin chided gently but the writer still did not look upset, relieving Thorin greatly.

“Alright, so we shouldn’t speak of it, but did you make a wish?”

“No, I do not wish upon stars,” Thorin said quickly, and realizing his words were hasty- “I never have… actually. Didn’t know that was something children did until I was much older, and friends told me their silly wishes.”

“Really? I can hardly believe a wee Thorin sitting in bed, not wishing on them with all _you’ve_ done,” Bilbo smiled, his hand, Thorin would notice, was still laying on his chest again. “Besides, I wanted to know what it was.”

“Ha, curious thing aren’t you?” Thorin teased but the writer gave a playful shrug in return, his lips curling almost deviously. “Then you will be greatly disappointed that I have nothing I’d wish for.” Something seemed to smite whatever bubbling happiness Bilbo had been expressing- something about Thorin _not_ having any desires or wishes melted whatever resolve Bilbo had left.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ah, done and had everything you could have wanted?” Bilbo added hesitantly a moment later, holding his breath. Thorin’s eyes flickered to Bilbo’s then but the writer had them averted, bringing his hand up to take a puff from his pipe, letting it out slowly.

Thorin eyed the writer for a moment- this was a delicate situation he’d just wheedled himself into. Any wrong choice of words, even _one_ could break off whatever smooth relationship they had begun _rebuilding._

“Aye, a bit of that, I suppose,” Thorin propped himself up then, upon a single arm, lower than the writer and still allowing their close proximity- Maker _knew_ he didn’t want any of this to end if it didn’t have to. Especially not if he could prevent it. “If I had a wish?” hazel eyes flickered over tentatively, beginning to light with hope, just a faint light. “Well, I think I would need far more than a single shooting star for it be granted.”

“Oh, well when you wish, you certainly wish big,” this brought that smile back, at least, even if it still seemed hollow and melancholic.

“Wouldn’t you wish big every time you got the chance?”

“I guess, I never had a wish I thought wasn’t too big for a single star,” Bilbo gave a loose shrug, eyeing lowering for a moment bashful- “I never really put _that_ much stock into shooting stars, Thorin, I’m an adult, you know.”

“I am _aware_ of that, you’re also, however, a romantic-“

“ _Novelist,”_ Bilbo chided then with a grin. “I write cute fluffy stories about love that everyone wants but honestly would probably be distressing if experienced.” Together, they shared laughter over the honesty and truth to his words, their hands knocking together for a brief moment at their sides, but neither seemed interested in drawing away from one another. If they even knew they were in such close parameters to begin with.

“Now I am a bit curious,” Thorin turned then, facing the writer a bit and finally forcing his hand to slide down his chest, but it found Thorin’s arm, rested there- the adventurer found he missed it upon his chest, _but_ on his arm was still a good spot. “What did the wee writer wish for?”

“I can’t _tell_ you, Thorin,”

“Oh _wait a moment,”_ Thorin’s voice rose with glee, Bilbo beginning to catch on as his smile began to turn into a smirk, devious, playing the innocent. “You can ask me what mine was, and have heard it, but I cannot know yours?”

“Yes,” the writer rebuffed confidently.

“And how does _that_ figure in your imagination, dear writer?” Thorin questioned. It was so easy to fall right back into their old patterns of teases and jibes. Comfort was something they both craved, and that the adventurer had found it in the writer was both a relief and startling. It had been a new world, certainly, discovering all there was to know of the writer.

“See, my mother used to say if you told someone about shooting stars, you could know their wish,” Thorin’s deadpanned and unconvinced eyes rolling about had the writer laughing. “So, _of course,_ normally sharing your wish would cause bad luck.”

“ ‘Bad luck’,” Thorin bemused.

“Or your wish wouldn’t come true,” the writer clarified with a grin.

“That’s bullshit,” Thorin winced internally, _praying_ he didn’t set the writer off, but seeing him blush and laugh, seeing his eyes gleam had the adventurer relaxing once more. “Not to mention, I don’t believe in this sort of stuff. Tell me anyway.” Hazel eyes focused on his own for quite a long time, neither moving to smoke or it seemed, to even breathe- until Bilbo took a hard breath as if to steady himself.

“I wished- I guess I wished more for a feeling, than anything,” both were befuddled, Bilbo perhaps more than Thorin was. He couldn’t even _explain_ to Thorin what he’d wished for beyond _hope._ “We’ll just say I hoped something would be different. I wished for hope.”

“I do pray ‘tis nothing serious,” steely blue eyes questioned in concern and the writer smiled back to them. “You might be wishing for some time.”

“Yes, I would be,” the blonde drew up, legs bending as he wrapped arms about them, head resting upon his knees as he stared up to the night sky. He seemed terribly young, curled like this and Thorin rose a bit more to see the writer better- whatever his wish had been seemed to greatly sadden him, regardless of wishing for hope. Resigned to have the conversation end, Thorin kept his eyes lowered, searching the seams of the blanket below as if it would have revelations for him to discover.

He’d been staring so intently upon the blanket he didn’t hear the call of his name- he didn’t even realize the writer was nudging him until he received a pinch at his arm and he hissed for it. “Maker, worse than when you sleep. I saw _five_ stars just shoot by-“ and when Bilbo reached back to point where he’d seen them, Thorin’s eyes followed.

And sure enough one zipped by them, in the air for a lot longer than usual too. A second and then a third came through, forcing Thorin to sit up beside the writer as many more began to pour out of the rich black and blue sky like rain just beginning to cascade to the earth. He’d never seen a meteor shower before, never spent a lot of time staring up at the sky either, he wasn’t sure if the writer had seen one either. But he was pleased- pleased he was able to witness one _and_ that the writer was the one beside him. Both stared up in mute wonder at the marvel before them, Bilbo dropping his arms from his legs, reclining back upon them as his mouth parted to awe aloud.

Thorin allowed his eyes to drop from the meteor shower to Bilbo then, tucked _just_ into his peripheral he might not be noticed staring with such intensity. Seeing the writer _aglow_ at such a simple sight reminded him of that first morning he’d shown the writer something he was sure he’d never seen _before;_ a rising sun over the valley, over fog and mountain and city. He’d seen the disbelief and the appreciation for such a simple sight that it had Thorin doubling over with surprise and…

Something else that had managed to become _such_ a rift between them. _Affection._ No, Thorin thought bitterly, _‘tis more than simple affection now._ He didn’t know how long he stared at the writer, but he knew he didn’t see any more stars falling- Bilbo was the center of his vision the only thing, right then, worth watching.

As if he’d disappear before him. “Is that enough, do you think?” His question brought Thorin from his gazing, jumping slightly as though stung. He blinked a few times before the writer turned to look at him- if he knew he was being _gaped_ at, he didn’t let it on.

“Enough…?”

“You said you’d need a great deal of stars,” he pointed back to the meteor shower (continuing its downpour, assumingly), keeping his eyes upon Thorin. “For your wish. I was asking if you thought that was enough.” Thorin’s heart gave an unsteady few beats, clenching with uncertainty.

“I could ask the same thing, if that many would grant you yours,” Bilbo blushed- “I also said you’d be wishing on yours a long time. Stars don’t usually just fall out of the sky in showers.” They both laughed, though it was strained and tight- awkward.

Bilbo was the first to look away, a hand rubbing his neck and curls, a bite to his lip- he was contemplating, though for the life of Thorin he couldn’t place what would have the writer at a loss. Unless… it was about _them._ If it were, that made a lot more _sense_ to Thorin _now_ he had seen the way he reacted at certain points in conversation. Why their hands had lingered so close, why the writer insisted on stargazing _alone._

“It’s silly,” Bilbo began unsteadily. “My wish. There’s a meteor shower, with hundreds of stars _falling_ at my feet and I still could wish upon them all and…” the writer faced Thorin impulsively, confused eyes wrought with worry and that eager hopefulness trying to stay alight. Whatever internal debate the writer had been having with himself seemed to finally end with a sigh, lidded eyes faced Thorin. “I wished that… I wished that there was hope for me.”

“Hope? For yourself?” Questioning the writer only made his struggle darken, making him writhe with physical discomfort.

“That there was some hope for me to be-“ their eyes caught and Bilbo’s voice gave way to his soft yet mesmerizing stare. “ _more_ to you. Again. Some more. I mean…” his cheeks reddened quickly and it spread clear to his ears, hands fisting behind him in the blanket. “I wished I was in your thoughts, maybe even that I _was_ your wish. I’m… sorry. I can’t help but think… that certain events didn’t _have_ to lead us here. Or rather… wished they _did not.”_

Thorin _couldn’t_ be hearing right.

Did he just say- “So, you’re right.”

This was untrue- it had to be. It… couldn’t just be _the truth!_ “I will be wishing indefinitely. For it to come true.”

_No._

_No you won’t have too ever again._

But Thorin knew he would never be able to voice it _quite_ as directly as the writer would have wanted to hear. _Should_ hear.

No, Thorin would always confess he was the worst with words, at worst of all with any sort of admittance that needed encouragement on an emotional level. Inspiring? Sure.

Ceasing one from doubt? That was a bit harder.

“I don’t think it would have taken _quite_ this many,” he saw Bilbo’s head whip around, almost reaching to hold it to assure himself he hadn’t just _twisted_ it. “You asked if this was enough stars for me. If it would grant my too-large-a-wish. I guess that it sort of depends on you.”

“On… me?” Now the writer was plainly confused, brows pointed at the bridge of his nose, eyes lacking any understanding.

“Yes, on you,” Thorin repeated as if it were the answer Bilbo needed to hear. “You see, if I did wish on stars, I’d wish for only one thing, until the end of my days.”

“A-And that is?” A choked reply- full of need and depravity.

“That I could make up for my mistakes,” he clarified and slowly saw the writer begin to sink before him, this wasn’t what he wanted to say, nor what the writer had wanted to hear. “Not all of them, just a few, a very _recent_ few, in fact. Regarding you… regarding _us.”_ Bilbo’s eyes returned, his mouth parted- disbelief painting over his confusion. “That game was dangerous and honestly, a silly way to keep you entranced. I didn’t need to play so hard, it seems, to have won. I won, unintentionally, and was too afraid to stop the game- out of fear that I had read the signs wrong. Read _you_ wrong.”

“Thorin,” thick, heavy with tears, choking.

“I would wish that I could be given a second chance, most of all,” Thorin leant in a fraction closer, the writer following suit though Thorin wasn’t sure if it was for clarity or something else. “I would wish that I would be given a second chance with _you.”_ The adventurer moved his own hand that had been clinging to the blankets forward, knocking softly against one of Bilbo’s, fingertips brushing against tight knuckles that immediately loosened at the touch. “Perhaps I too, would be wishing for an eternity.”

The crash of lips against his own was both rewarding and a bit painful- teeth banged together awkwardly behind sealed lips, the thrum of that still echoing even as the writer whimpered in the back of his throat at the connection- though neither drew away from the bruising kiss. Thorin wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a tease, or if it was _meant_ to be violent- he couldn’t tell by the way the kiss was evolving since it hadn’t- the pressure of sealed lips against his own led him only to frustration-

“And _I’m_ the dramatic one, he says,” Bilbo breathes over Thorin’s lips and their eyes light to one another’s simultaneously, understanding washing over them both slowly. “You only needed to wish on one for it to be granted.”

“Because I’m psychic and would have been able to understand you wished similarly,” Thorin exhaled, though irritated, it was not taken negatively.

“Like I didn’t ask, either,” Bilbo corrected and a few moments of silence came between them, faces still close, eyes still _dancing_ between one another’s. “You… you mean that though? Wanting… a second chance?”

“I don’t have the words to convince you that I do,” Thorin whispered, his own voice feeling thick and strangled. “I have done something incorrigible and thoughtless. To satisfy a desire that, had I only asked, would have been answered and none of this would have been put forth, truthfully.” Thorin gave a roll of his eyes, a sidelong glance to the hillsides, covered in a silvery sheen, seemingly still and painted. “The Maker has a sense of humor, pitting me against a renowned writer and saying ‘spill your guts’.” Thorin chided himself but this earned the laughter of the writer, earned a hand reaching for his cheek to tentatively brush at his beard, at his skin, to turn and face him.

“You’re saying what I think you’re saying,” Bilbo said softly, a hint of confusion still lingering in his voice, but it wasn’t a question any longer. “Somewhere, that game wasn’t a game to you. Somewhere, I stopped believing in it too. You’re… fond of me.”

“More than _fond,_ dear writer,” Thorin uttered- “I wouldn’t be fighting over words if I was _fond._ Swept away unknowingly would be a better association.”

“I have improved greatly then, I think, since all this began,” Bilbo chuckled with wide eyes and Thorin couldn’t help but grin- half agreeing with the writer but not daring to voice it. Not this moment. “Say it, Thorin.” A beg, a plea.

It took the adventurer a while to figure out what the writer wanted him to say- if he meant the words, or if he was encouraging him to _find_ them and say them more eloquently.

“I wished that you could find it in you to fall in love with me,” he finally managed, kissing the palm at his cheek before drawing it from his face and into his hand. His lips sought Bilbo’s ear, to whisper, for he knew his voice would be no more than a ghost of a noise. “For I have fallen so far that it’s irreversible, and Maker, I’ve fallen and I do _not_ want to get back up unless it’s with you.” He felt the shiver from the writer more than he saw it, heard the exhale and mewl that rang like the morning bells in town to raise the folk from sleep. “Tell me if my wish has come true, speak for me because I need to hear these words too.” A chaste kiss came to Bilbo’s jaw and Thorin felt his arms wrap around his neck tightly, felt his face bury into his shoulder and shuffle closer.

“You have to make saying ‘I’ve fallen in love with you’ so… _so,”_ but the writer could not finish his sentence, instead, he sighed against Thorin’s neck, relishing when the adventurer drew him into his arms then, resting his head against his shoulder too.

“Dramatic?” Thorin chuckled, but he felt a gentle hit against his chest, a tiny fist balled before it unfurled and clung to his tunic.

“Yes,” Bilbo drew back with the largest smile Thorin had ever seen plastered upon his lips. “Maybe we should have wished for something more reasonable, like courage or something.”

“Would have taken the fun out of all the-“ Thorin paused. “Well, maybe it wasn’t _all_ fun.” But they laughed- _Maker_ did they laugh. Thorin brought their foreheads together, sighing, reveling in having the writer close and neither having to _hide_ behind an action. “And I mean it- no more games. No more lies. I… want a second chance to woo you. Court you properly.”

“Good,” Bilbo hummed and realized that sounded awfully catty, but Thorin didn’t mind. In fact, he beamed at it, snorted.

“You sound so confident about this now,” he drew back, eyeing the writer.

“I’m expecting some kissing to go along with all this sweet talking,” Bilbo clarified.

“Oh, was that what you were waiting for?” Thorin teased and his voice made the writer shiver again, made his legs squirm, made snuffing his pipe far more difficult than it needed to be. “Right out of one of your books.”

“ _My books?”_ Bilbo questioned then, feeling his breath becoming shorter the closer Thorin drew.

“Yes, yours, tales of love blossoming in the strangest of places, only to find it is not so strange,” Thorin drew a finger under Bilbo’s chin to lift it, pleased to see his blush intensify.

“Well, m-maybe _you_ should starting penning some,” the writer tried his best to sound unaffected by their proximity but they both knew it had failed.

“I, by far, enjoy your choice of words over mine,” he breathed over parted lips, but it was Bilbo _again_ , that sealed their mouths together, humming at the force of Thorin’s own desire. The writer could hardly _maintain_ his position, let alone _upright_ when the adventurer began to shift his weight forward. They collapsed back against the blanket, Bilbo moaning against the onslaught of tongue and lips Thorin unleashed upon him. His hands stroked up Thorin’s neck and found is hair, undid the tie and carded his shaking fingers through it, forcing them to cease their trembling. Thorin shifted again, and this time, pressed himself against the writer, coiling himself around Bilbo. Their kiss broke for a breath, another, a moan, before Thorin reinitiated it, licking at Bilbo’s upper lip before slipping within a welcoming mouth.

Bilbo felt his body flush in desire, in _remembrance_ for all their past kisses- they hadn’t meant nothing after all, and that mere fact was enough to rekindle their strength, their passion. It made the writer a bit more whinier, made him a bit more vocal under Thorin’s precise ministrations. He could hardly contain himself, moaning abashed against Thorin’s mouth, arching under his weight, their bodies pressed firmly against the other sealed in their heat. His hands tied themselves within Thorin’s dark hair, but the writer was far more interested in where Thorin’s hands were wandering, one propped by his head to keep a _hair of distance_ between them, and the other was now sliding down his side patiently. A thumb swiped across his chest brushing against a pert nipple that had Bilbo arcing, their kiss breaking with Thorin chuckling throatily against swollen lips. “We should stop.” And though the flames had only _begun_ to enrage, Thorin could put them out if he needed too- a soft nuzzle of their noses had them both huffing.

“Why on _earth_ should we do that?” Bilbo was able to gain a bit of control of shaky fingers, combing dark tresses, eyes wandering over Thorin’s flushed face.

“Because, despite not _knowing_ why my nephews took a _convenient_ leave, I do not _doubt_ that they are lurking,” he chided, though it was more frustrated than upset. “I am certain this was a part of some devious plan.”

“It _was_ a good plan,” Bilbo acknowledged, leaning back a bit, a knowing smile spreading as Thorin’s eyes returned.

“You wouldn’t have had anything to do with their timely disappearance, would you now?” He teased, teeth baring in a grin and Bilbo feigned his dissent.

“Not at all,”

“Oh, my mistake then,” his breath fell over Bilbo’s reddened lips. “I was going to thank you for it. I had such a wondrous idea, in fact-“

“I definitely had something to do with it then,” the writer’s voice broke a bit over a mewl, his attempt at sounding seductive came out submissive and whiny but it had the right affect upon the adventurer.

“Well then,” Thorin captured Bilbo’s lips fiercely, nibbling upon them and swallowing the moan the writer spilled. His hand fell to his hip, stroking the malleable flesh before tucking his hand underneath his tunic to find skin- burning against his touch. He could feel prickles under the pads of his fingers, reached to pull those hips against his own when that body curved into Thorin. Both their moans were caught in their throats as hips knocked pleasurably together, their erections straining behind slacks, pulsed at the contact of the other’s upon them. Bilbo squeaked, his hands finding stability upon Thorin’s shoulders, whilst _Thorin’s_ hand found sliding to the writer’s back, skimming the waistband of his breeches was too delightful to cease. Bilbo tore his lips from Thorin’s for air and to press chaste, fervent kisses across his cheek and to his ear, drawing his hair from it to moan.

“T-Thorin,” a nip at his lobe had the adventurer groaning against Bilbo’s neck, hot breath causing a shiver to rack Bilbo’s shoulders as he collapsed back to the blanket below, eyes hazy, almost _watery._ They leant back towards one another-

“It’s about _time,”_ came the drawl from the direction of their camp. Bilbo tried to sit up to see who it was- knocking his head against Thorin’s, rattling their teeth from the smack of bone against bone, causing them both to snarl in pain and clutch their foreheads.

“Sorry,” Bilbo hissed, eyeing the adventurer who smiled, shaking his head. It shouldn’t have been a surprise _who_ it was, considering their location, but _also_ that this was _ultimately_ a plot formulated by the meddling nephews.

“That took such effort,” some yards from the sprawling couple was Fili and Kili smirking proudly to their Uncle and writer, hanging off one another as though this had been their ultimate plan all along. “I think that was the hardest thing we’ve ever done.”

“And what, pray tell, Keelin would _that_ be?” Thorin began to sit back, drawing his pipe from the blanket with a growl, that sensual face long gone and replaced with _Uncle Thorin_. “Don’t encourage him, Fergus.” Thorin waved at the two of them, but it didn’t work and Bilbo sat upwards, still clutching his head. Thorin was the one who shot him a worried glance, but Bilbo’s eyes were focused upon his nephews who were giving thumbs up- or in Kili’s case, rocking his hips. Hazel eyes blew wide open and Thorin seeing them shot his head around to see his nephews, ceasing whatever their actions were, pretending they had only been casually waiting around. “Maker, fetch some firewood and clean up from dinner.” Thorin waved his hand at them, but their wolf-whistling only rekindled the flush on Thorin’s cheeks again, eyes furtive as they darted back to Bilbo. “A rude and… irritating as all hell interruption.”

“We _do_ have a tent, Thorin,”

“Yes, that’s very thin and not at all soundproof, they so much as hear a peep, I’m sure it will be _them_ telling _us_ we should stop making noises,” Thorin groaned and gave his forehead a rub with a wince, eyeing the writer as he laughed. “I do promise you, I will have you alone, in peace- or as much as I can manifest.” Thorin gave a sidelong glance back towards their camp, both chuckling.

“I will eagerly await a bed littered with rose petals and four solid walls,” Bilbo added, watching one of Thorin’s brows rise upwards. “Maybe some candles.”

“You’ve had a lot of time to think on this,” He leaned back towards the writer with a snort, kissing a flustered and heated cheek, humming at the softness, plush. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,”

“Oh? Have I?”

“You say it as if I was supposed to have no fantasies about all those earlier kisses and make-out sessions against trees,” Bilbo drew his pipe from the blanket and began to move from it- “What, I have an active imagination. I drew up a variety of scenes in my mind- I was um…” the writer fidgeted as Thorin moved from the blanket, standing as the writer folded the blanket up consciously. “I was surprised by some of them.”

“Well, I will try my best to find both the time and places for them all, yes?” He pressed a tender and feather light kiss in between Bilbo’s brows- so light the writer had barely felt lips behind his beard. “Come along before we’re accosted again.” Bilbo quickly stepped before Thorin, a hand upon his chest to stop the adventurer from continuing forward.

“So, since it’s official,” even teeth worried at Bilbo’s lip, the writer rocking to and fro on his heels. “I don’t… we don’t have to… hide this… us.” A bit of fear had seeped in- a bit of worry. “What…ever this is between us.” And for that moment Thorin had a taste of how deep his game had scarred the writer, and how much ground he would have to make up for. His sigh was shaky and his hand that cupped Bilbo’s cheek held such a tenderness the writer hadn’t ever thought Thorin could possess.

“I’ve done you a great wrong,” Thorin murmured, Bilbo could feel his fingers quiver at his jaw. “And I will do everything I can to change your opinion of me-“

“I never-“

“Hush, I’m not done,” Bilbo swallowed thickly at Thorin’s sweet smile. “I wish to court you, true and proper, and no secrets, no games, nothing dishonest or false. I owe you that and more- you will have to give me some leniency since it has been some time since I’ve had to… well. Fight to keep someone close.” Bilbo felt his knees give way, nearly falling- if it hadn’t been for Thorin’s hand coming to his hip to steady him, the writer was _sure_ he’d be pushing himself up from the grass. “And if it is your wish to kiss in front of them I’ll give you warning, they won’t shut their dirty mouths up about it.” Bilbo chuckled then, reaching and cupping Thorin’s hand at his cheek, nuzzling against the strong grip. “Whatever you wish, I will try and grant for you.”

“I’d like a kiss then,” Thorin burst into laughter- “I am _fairly_ wooed at the moment.”

“Ah, mustn’t disappoint,” Thorin corrected.

“I don’t think that could ever happen,” but just before Thorin found Bilbo’s lips, he stopped, frozen in place. It was the writer who opened his eyes to find Thorin still before him, staring deeply into his eyes. “W-what?”

“You continue to surprise me,” his tone, however, was not stun, but melancholic, a ring of pain- he had expected resistance, at least a slight distrust in those eyes, in the writer’s body, but Maker, here he was, willing, pleased, _content_ even. The kiss was quick, but just as breathtaking as any other, lips parting but remaining close,  mouthing at one another for several moments longer to delay the kiss ending. When they both opened their eyes they drew back together and Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand, finding his index finger and hooking it with his own, tugging the adventurer back to camp as though he’d be lost in the distance.

Thorin’s nephews winked and waggled brows to both their Uncle and the writer, but whilst Bilbo ignored them, their Uncle gave them death glares that only encouraged them to nudge one another excitedly. Though both writer and adventurer looking forward to more _personal_ and _private_ time away from the prying of Thorin’s nephews, the four of them did find themselves around the campfire, looking over a map Thorin had plotted their venture some months back. He pointed out the city they’d been stopping by in a few days, just in time for their spring festival which had the nephews squealing happily-

“I’m looking forward to the games,” Kili mentioned- “They’re silly, but Maker, love the prizes.”

“I’m sure it’s not the prizes you get _at_ the festival so much as the prizes you get for winning them for a special someone,” Fili had his eyes lowered, his cheeks aflame at the writer’s insinuation. “You know, for picking on the two of us, you two do a remarkably _awful_ job at being unabashed.”

“I can’t be overpowered,” Kili said confidently.

“I wouldn’t go there, Kili,” Thorin chided warningly. “I won’t save you.”

“I don’t need _help_ Uncle-“

“Kili, something tells me you are incredibly whiny when intoxicated,” the youth glanced to the writer who was beaming. “Something also tells me that Fili looks forward to seeing how _bad_ you lose at these games, so that _he_ can show _you_ a thing or two.” Kili’s mouth fell open, and his eyes fell to the flame as Fili began to cackle, knocking his brother over-

“Master Boggins just _nailed_ you!”

“He! He did no _such thing!”_ the younger replied, his cheeks flushed brightly, fussing as his brother teased him incessantly. The evening carried on much like any other and when Bilbo rose to retire, he felt rather than saw at least two sets of eyes boring at him with glee, a few hushed cheers when Bilbo heard the adventurer coming after. Though when Bilbo ducked within their tent, moving to kneel over his bed he stiffened-

Things were different now, weren’t they?

Snuggling could _lead_ to so much more now and it would be _alright._

Something about Thorin rolling him back to their makeshift beds in need—

“Rest assured, Master Baggins,” Thorin’s voice soothed the tension from his shoulder, hands stroked his arms but never gripping or tightening, never dipping further or pulling- they waited patiently. Bilbo found himself falling against Thorin’s chest, finding his embrace, though loose, an immense comfort. “As fast or as slow as you’d like. I owe you that.”

“You don’t _owe_ me anything,” he tried to correct, but the adventurer gave a loose shrug to that, tucking his head at the writer’s shoulder.

“Perhaps,” he said, words guarded. “I meant that we don’t have to skip all the cuddling sessions for the steamy bits. I waited a long time, was willing to wait forever. I think I can wait a bit more.” Thorin consoled and the writer released a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I’m in your capable hands, Master Baggins.”

“More like, I’m in yours, again,” Bilbo chuckled, but Thorin couldn’t help but give a squeeze to the writer in his arms.

“Not at all,” Thorin assured against his ear and the writer squirmed to glance over his shoulder, the adventurer grinning widely when their eyes met. He released him only so they could change into more comfortable and airy clothes- the evening calling for something lighter.

Not to mention what was brewing between them was _more_ than enough to change into lighter clothing. Bilbo collapsed to his side, stretching before relaxing until he felt an arm trickle up his side, teasing, and gentle, before circling at his waist. Thorin pressed his nose against the nape of Bilbo’s neck, a soft and long kiss laid atop his spine, exhaling. He felt the writer scoot _back_ into him letting out a hum of content before Thorin closed the distance, head resting beside Bilbo’s- the woodsy scent still clinging to the honey-blonde curls.

Somewhere, Thorin drawled on to himself, the writer had stolen something far more precious than Thorin could have imagined.

Much, coincidentally, like their little fictional burglar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE. NOW THEY CAN DO IT. <3
> 
> Never fear, there will be a WHOLE chapter dedicated to that sort of... horizontal indulgement.
> 
> I hope you all don't mind, it's gonna be MILDLY explicit- but I don't want to write a separate chapter for it to fit M-rating. I will flail at it, that its the yummy-chapter, when I post it, lovelies.


	24. Caught Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. FIRST. Sorry for the delay (been a bit out of it recently, craptastic things have happened, so, puts a dampener on creativity)
> 
> Second, Thank you all for reading (^___^) There are still several more chapters, (I still, honestly have no IDEA how many, this story was originally meant to be like 6 chapters, so look at that) I would say 30+ if I HAD to give an estimation (and plenty more yummy pronz to come)
> 
> Third, I am evil, aren't I? >:3 That's all.

**Chapter 24: Caught Between**

The adventurer woke feeling impossibly high, and terribly cold. He stretched carefully to not alert the writer- but found both his arms free of suspension, and found the tent, in fact, empty. Thorin at first didn’t move, recalling the events of the night before and eyeing the flap of their tent-

It hadn’t been a dream,... could it? That was far too much to remember from a simple dream. He started to sit up when he Bilbo appeared, kneeling through the flap-

“Oh- you’re awake,” Bilbo was holding a plate, food steaming from it and Thorin blinked a few times to assure himself that the writer was  _ truthfully _ there, holding a plate of food. Maker, he became domestic quick, but it was with such effort that the writer had gone through, to not disturb  _ his slumber _ that made Thorin pause. “I um…” he glanced to the food upon the plate, and Thorin watched contemplation roll over his expression- he almost looked at it with disdain, as if it had not been good enough anymore. “I made breakfast.” He cleared his throat and offered Thorin the plate of food who gingerly took it with a smile, eyeing it-

Hashbrowns. A few sausages, a couple of fruits. But before Thorin could ask anything else the writer was darting back out, though he hovered at the front of their tent for a moment, catching his breath and moving towards the fire. Thorin sat up and prepared to start eating when Bilbo returned, two cups in one hand, a plate in the other and he sat down hastily. His cheeks were flushed, and he avoided Thorin’s eyes, even as he offered the cup of coffee to him, jaw clenching.

“I suppose I must ask,” Thorin eyed the coffee, his breakfast. “What’s all this for?” Bilbo finally met Thorin’s eyes and found him to be  _ honestly _ questioning why he was brought breakfast.

“Um,” and all the reasons Bilbo prepped breakfast seemed silly and quite remote. The writer coughed, swallowed and lowered his eyes with a furrowed brow, lips pursing in both thought and embarrassment. “H-Hearing you ask me, makes all the reasons  _ I did _ make it for you seem…” and the writer gave a huff.

“What?”

“Stupid,” Thorin’s brows rose and understanding dawned upon him. This must have been something for  _ just _ the two of them- the writer would not have gone through such effort for nothing. And with the way the writer was blushing, fingering his coffee cup, it had to be specifically about what had transpired last night. Their admittance, their… well. Thorin grinned and leaned forward, raising Bilbo’s chin to meet his eyes.

“Stupid, as you might  _ think _ they are, I’d like to hear them,” he whispered and Bilbo found himself drawn into a kiss, a whimper escaped between their lips. Thorin drew back with the writer chasing after him, though once realizing he had, he straightened, eyes fixated on breakfast. “I do hope, though, you made food for my nephews-“

“O-Of course,” Bilbo huffed. “They’re still asleep.” He said quietly, eyes darting away and Thorin could only chuckle at the discomfort the writer was displaying. “Last night… happened.” Bilbo touched his lips as Thorin’s eyes fell to the fingers playing over them, then back to Bilbo’s hazel eyes, flickering with disbelief and then… satisfaction. The adventurer leant back a bit to overlook  _ all _ of the squirming writer.

“Was not a dream,” Thorin added with elation- oh he had believed it to be a dream too- had believed he’d done something wrong, and the writer could not stand to be around him anymore. It had seized him so powerfully he’d nearly lashed out upon the writer when he reappeared before him. “Maker, it wasn’t.” Thorin leaned back in and paused- he could have the writer right then.

Press him back to the bedding and lavish attention upon that body he had  _ craved _ for longer than he cared to admit- and selfishly had disagreed he’d felt a thing for him. They could do this- and the writer would cave, would be wanton under his touch- would be-

But Thorin quelled such a desire, knocking their foreheads together softly with an exhale and Bilbo nuzzled against it, humming his own relief. Perhaps going slow would not be such a burden if they could maintain this atmosphere of sweetness.

“Bringing me breakfast,” Thorin drew away after a moment, forking some hashbrowns and readying to eat them- “A little domestic for the wilderness, no?” A mouthful had him keeping from speaking further but this incited a flustered frown on the writer. Domestic? The writer chanced looking to the adventurer who had no look of antagonism on his expression, nor any sign to further rile the writer negatively. In fact, he seemed pleased, which Bilbo wasn’t sure what might have disturbed him further.

“Domestic? It’s just breakfast,” Bilbo offered in rebuttal but Thorin gave a hum, a chuckle when he cleared his throat.

“I imagine breakfast at your home would be bountiful,” the adventurer commented, scooping another heaping of potatoes to his fork- “Clad in an apron perhaps?” This of course had the writer’s cheeks burning brightly at the assumption  _ he _ even  _ wore _ an apron.

Of course, he did, when  _ baking. _ But that… that was baking! Not  _ breakfast! _

Thorin however did take note of the way the writer had ceased to fidget or eat, and a glance his way offered clarity to how his words had been taken- wrongly, as usual. “Er- I didn’t mean-“

“I have an apron, I only use it when I’m…baking though,” he fussed then and Thorin could have  _ sworn _ he heaved a collected aggravated  _ sigh _ with the world. This… rekindling and getting back together was already proving to be harder than a game had been.

“I wasn’t-“ but Thorin knew better than to argue with the writer- also knew that trying to explain his point  _ might _ have just made things worse before recovering. “Might be a cute sight.” He said instead, his eyes hesitant to meet the writer’s. He was relieved to see them downcast, a small bashful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his cheeks rosy and plump from grinning.

“Only  _ you _ would… tease me for having an apron,” Bilbo took a bite of his food. “Bachelors have to learn how to cook too.”

“I  _ am _ one,” Thorin chided, and could not be more relieved that the situation had escaped foreboding territory. “So I know how to cook too.”

“You mean to tell me what you’ve been doing is  _ cooking,” _ Bilbo teased, eyes lighting brightly at the recovering conversation. “Thorin, Maker… you need new lessons.”

“Well, I’ll have to get an apron, won’t I?” the writer gave him a snarl, though playful, pressed a quick and tentative kiss to his cheek.

It felt awkward, honestly, to be able to reach and hold and not be a lie or a scandal. Felt  _ strange _ they were allowed to cuddle and kiss without their needing to be a ‘ _ just kidding’ _ followed after. And as they ate, Thorin wondered if that was what troubled the writer too, for it nagged him until they were outside.

Even cleaning their dishes as Bilbo made sure the rest of breakfast remained warm for his nephews, it seemed the tension between them was still palpable- still raw even. When both had bumped into one another, having nearly walked right into each other they both paused and gazed. It was as if it were one of the first times they  _ saw _ one another in that light- how long had the writer pined in secret? Had the disturbances of his nephews, their devious plans been secretly, something the writer had hoped for?

_ Wished _ for?

Though when the writer rose to his toes, silently asking for a kiss, all his worries flitted from his mind. The kiss was soft, tender, though it brazened fires in their bellies, it was quelled and tantalizing. Administrated carefully and with caution, but it had Thorin’s skin prickling when Bilbo reached for his arms, his shoulders. His senses attuned to the writer, the smell of his hair, his skin, the tremble of hands and his body, the squeak he’d make when Thorin stroked his ear, the moan he’d cover up at the touch of his neck.

Bilbo let himself back to his feet, firmly on the ground and it seemed that things might be alright.

_ Might be. _ Thorin reminded- there was still a lot of unanswered questions, a lot of things they needed to relearn- and the worry festering in his gut made him wonder if they  _ could _ manage to relearn what had enamored one to the other.  _ It has to be worth it,  _ Thorin thought as Bilbo blushed when the noises of his nephews asking what that great smell was, the writer sliding from him coyly.  _ It  ** is ** worth it, _ Thorin corrected.

Breakfast came and went with little eventful occurring and they decided that they should head to town, if at least to hopefully find a place that would still have  _ beds _ for them, with the festival fast approaching. Fili and Kili were still sending glances over their shoulders to see their Uncle and writer walking side by side, more often than not. Sometimes, Thorin would lead their group and Bilbo would hustle forward, hesitant to reach for the adventurer it seemed. At least, the brothers thought, they were  _ together _ , no matter the capacity.

It was early evening when they arrived in town and many places had already closed their doors for rooms, but they came to an inn that seemed to be on the higher-end though Thorin could hardly  _ imagine _ they were much more expensive than the others.

He greeted the innkeepers, their accents thick, and it took Thorin several exchanges to tell them that  _ four _ men needed rest, not a single one.

“Oh, Ah se’, Ah se’, good su’,” the taller man grinned widely. “Go’ yo’self a wee bunch eh?” Thorin eyed his companions, Bilbo, wide eyed just gave a chuckle and looked away. “ ‘Ow many beds ye nee’?”

“If you have four, that would be swell,” the brothers could tell, as the writer could, that Thorin was becoming frustrated with  _ negotiating _ their stay.

“Ah, fou’ooms,” the man looked to their layout on the counter- his wife came alongside and huffed.

“We ain’ got fou’ sep’rate rooms, suh’s,” she tutted-

“Two would do well-“

“And if four beds is too much, two beds would do mighty fine,” Fili chimed and Thorin shot him a look the blonde smirking.

“Ah, two beds aye-“

“I’d prefer if you had something-“

“Bes’ we go’ is that suite-“

“In fact, we could take separate rooms entirely,” Kili added, drawing the attention of the innkeeper. “We can sleep separately.” He waved between himself and his brother, Bilbo’s eyes growing wide at the implications, mouth falling open as Thorin narrowed his glare to his nephews before leveling it at the innkeepers.

“Ah, go’ a lil fling goin’ on eh?” The man asked and Thorin couldn’t  _ believe _ what he had just said- if he wasn’t desperate, and Maker he was. “Sweet on the blondie?” He gestured to the writer whose cheeks darkened and he avoided any sets of eyes directly, clearing his throat.

“These youngins mus’ be your boys, eh, they’ cuties, to boot,” the woman had to make that connection and Thorin rubbed his brow, biding his time to run his nephews into the ground- this was growing worse by the second. It didn’t help that his nephews  _ played _ it.

“Got it from  _ mother,” _ Kili chuckled, drawing close to Bilbo and resting his head on his shoulder. Bilbo would have liked nothing more than to throw the youth off and chastise his influence, but decided that since most of their opportunities for another place had been taken- they must endure the critique of the foreign couple.

“Yes,  _ mother,” _ Bilbo added. “Can we have the suite or not? It has two beds?” He cleared, meeting the man’s eyes, then the woman’s with his own frustration budding. “Big enough for the two of us to fit comfortable, and these two?” he pointed between himself and Thorin, then towards the brothers, and the couple grinned, agreed.

“Aye, though the suite room iz a wee la’ger than th’ a’joinin’ room,” Bilbo waved.

“I think we’re fine with that,” Bilbo assured and Thorin riddled through his pack for his money, snarling to himself, grumbling about the situation, the writer was sure.

“Sweet things,” the woman then said to the boys who had drawn her attention from Thorin and Bilbo as she tugged their hair, looked over their clothes, chiding Thorin and Bilbo for not taking better care of their sons-

“They’re not-“ But Thorin bit his tongue, eyes rolling. Bilbo swore he heard them roll and knock against his skull Thorin had rolled them so hard, his irritation at the point his face was flushed, lips sealed in a sneer. “Yes, we’re engaged, I brought my sons with me, we’re all going to the Spring Festival next week, a wonderful present to us all!” He finally broke out and the couple cheered-

“ ‘Ow wonderful, ye all came t’the right place then,” The landlady assured, taking the keys and heading up with the brothers following after, Thorin forking over a large sum of their currency for this  _ suite _ .

“It better be a damn remarkable room,” Thorin whispered against the writer’s ear, and though it was laced with upset and anger, Bilbo couldn’t help but gasp at the proximity of it. It wasn’t that they  _ hadn’t _ had any sort of whispered secrets or flirts between one another that day- it was the fact that after much delay and haggling, they were going to have a bed, and from the owner’s insistence, the room was a  _ suite. _ “Well, at least it  _ will _ be a separate room.” Thorin murmured then, as they marched upstairs, following the mistress, Bilbo glancing at Thorin with lidded eyes, a flush on his cheek. It soothed Thorin to see that the writer could still be riled up by a mere whisper against his ear or insinuation.

They followed the round woman, Thorin half curious how they managed to make an inn where she could hardly fit down the halls- but then- he had a bit of difficulty himself. From what they’d glimpsed of the town, everyone seemed to be on a much shorter and podgier side- even Bilbo had made a comment on  _ Shirefolk _ not being this  _ disinclined _ looking.

“Here we are m’boys!” She patted both brothers upon the head happily, smiling kindly to Bilbo- “Take care, dear boy, tha’ man is twice y’er size!” Bilbo’s mouth fell open but, he was pleased that Thorin had not heard what she had cooed at him, quickly hustling within, the brothers giggling. “An’ you.” Thorin paused before she handed him the key. “If it don’ work ou’, hubby goes away on Wednesday eve’s for a drink elsewhere.” Thorin snatched the keys with a snarl.

“What an offer, I’ll keep it in mind,” she giggled but as soon as he came within, he slammed the door, locking it quickly- though when he turned he saw his nephews and Bilbo staring through a doorway- two rooms on either side of the tiny common room, centered was there supposed bathhouse. “Now what-“ as Thorin stormed forward, Kili and Fili parted to allow Thorin to peer over the writer’s shoulder- seeing what they had been gawking at. “Maker.”

Indeed it was a suite- the bed large, expansive and well decorated, fine linen laid atop of it, and room seemed to  _ moan _ romance. “Of course it couldn’t have just been larger boarding.”

“We’ll take it if-“

“No,” Thorin waved at them- “Don’t you two have your own room, over there.” He ushered his nephews across the room, before returning to his and Bilbo’s shared one. The writer had set his things to the side and was sitting atop the bed, bouncing lightly upon it, fingering the bedding before he jerked upwards. “What is it?” Thorin questioned and Bilbo jumped at the booming voice before sighing.

“Well, it’s… uh,” he eyed bed. “Silk.”

“Maker preserve me,” Thorin rubbed his brow, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment in irritation before exhaling disgruntled. “And people wonder why I prefer camping to renting rooms.”

“I don’t,” Bilbo waved, eyeing the bed, suddenly feeling nervousness race into his hands, wringing them together to hide their trembling. Of course, the adventurer did catch them, eyeing them for a moment, before Bilbo went and sought to unpack a few things- they were staying, might as well put his few clothes away- “I mean… we uh- have four walls?” Bilbo was shaking as he dropped a few his tunics into the dresser beside the bed and Thorin chuckled-

“Have a thing for silk then, Master Baggins?” Thorin moved and fingered the linens with a soft groan of disbelief.

“W-What- I can’t-“ Bilbo turned then to face Thorin who looked more  _ upset _ the bed was even  _ draped _ in such a fabric than the idea they had  _ four solid walls _ and a bed to… well.

What would they have done?

How far could they leap- months ago, leaping to the bed would not have been a surprise- a  _ month _ ago it would not have even seemed  _ crazy _ to do such a thing! Now?

Now their tryst was more than a fling, more than a  _ game… _ it almost seemed… impossible to reach such a conclusion as them tangled in the bed together. “I just… thought… it was a bit of time… alone.”

“I could have done without the  _ ridiculous _ bed,” Thorin waved defeated with it, pacing to chair and tossing his large and heavy pack to it, pulling it open to draw out a few clothes. “I mean, every time we walk out, it’s going to be some crass comment on our relationship- excuse me-“ Thorin drew back, holding his hands in quotations- “ ‘our engagement with our  _ sons’.” _ He snorted. “I am making a note in every map possible not to return here.”

“You could make the best of it-“

“There is nothing  _ to make _ the best out of it, Bilbo,” he whipped about, snapping and the writer tensed at the bark, wincing. Ah. So what they had wasn’t meant to be… shown? Or was Thorin more focused on the rude comments and talk of the innkeepers? Thorin let out a stifled sigh before closing the distance between himself and the writer- “You’re right. No matter the frill and pomp of the room, I’m overlooking something more important.” Bilbo stared up at the adventurer, his eyes cleared of his rage, were pools of comfort and enticement that the writer could  _ hardly _ ever resist. Even in the throes of rage, they were powerful and commanded action. Thorin cupped Bilbo’s cheek, the writer wilting against the touch, humming, though the gentle caress ended far sooner than the writer would have liked.

In fact, with little else to do besides unpack, Thorin was eager to finish the next chapter- and they spent most of the evening in the common room, sprawling before the fire upon the couch together. Tension rose from a  _ lack _ of anything occurring, not from the anticipation  _ of _ something. It was when Bilbo gave a yawn that Thorin seemed to recall the writer was beside him, that there was more between them than mild teasing- there were possibilities.

And he hesitated. He’d leaned over to quell a yawn with a kiss, one Bilbo mewled against but did not further deepen. When the adventurer attempted to deepen the kiss, it was slowed by the writer, though Thorin was unsure why. He told himself it was exhaustion- after all, the writer had been yawning for a while now, but that little weasel of doubt began to gnaw at his ears, whisper against those uncertainties.

Despite the many months spent huddled close together in a shared tent, the writer found it disconcerting that the adventurer had put such a distance between them. If asked, Thorin would have rectified it, Bilbo was positive, however, it seemed an unlikely answer. 

Thorin found it queer entirely too, that after such desperation on the writer’s behalf to shrug him away from a kiss- that doubt resurging in his breast blossomed like jealousy- rearing an ugly head that neither needed to be there, nor had any place.

They’d said their lovely bits to one another.

So why this atmosphere, thick as sludge, dredging up between them? 

Neither seemed to have the answers.

With such a great bed expanded between them, perhaps it was the simple fact they could  _ toss _ and  _ roll  _ without knocking one another with a misplace knee or elbow. Maybe the adventurer found silk to be discomforting? Perhaps the writer had lost his interests in cuddling after time spent in the jungle.

Whatever the reasoning, Thorin would be disappointed greatly when he woke to see the writer huddled at the other side of the bed, face first into the plush pillows and  _ not _ at his side.

It  _ also _ didn’t help that the innkeepers cleaners were pounding on their room door early in the morn, disturbing a restful night. Fili and Kili groggily woke after their Uncle, leaning against one another and using the wall for support, questioned him about their… rude awakening. None of them were able to return to sleep, so they spent their time prepping breakfast, Bilbo half falling asleep as he cooked, Kili watching with his chin upon his shoulder.

“Smells good,” he yawned.

“Yep,” the writer yawned- “Maker, don’t yawn,  _ I’m _ yawning,” Thorin was the third to yawn and growled, sitting at the couch with a rub of his eyes as he spread two maps over the table.

“Don’t even yawn, Fili, or Maker I swear-“ But the blonde was already half way through it when Thorin had snarled at him. “I’m going to ask they don’t disturb us. Ever. If I’m paying for the fancy room, I want the quiet that comes with it.”

“Well,  _ some  _ noise should be coming from there,” Kili interjected. “Rocking of that bed-“

“Keelin-“ Thorin’s voice warned.

“Just saying,” the youth straightened, huffing at his Uncle. “Do you mind if we browse the market? I need to get another whetstone, and I think my bow might have been splintered.”

“Sure,” Thorin stood then and fetched some coin for the boys who eagerly thanked him, as the writer served them breakfast. As soon as the boys finished, they thanked the writer with hugs and left- “You wouldn’t  _ happen _ to have anything to do with them leaving  _ this time _ , would you?” Thorin cocked a brow high and Bilbo’s flustered and flabbergasted face was a priceless one.

“I!” His cheeks inflamed, Bilbo went to clean their dishes instead of answering, hands shaking. Didn’t Thorin know how much  _ courage _ it had taken to pull him aside, even  _ if _ they hadn’t reconciled and gotten together… Bilbo swallowed, his throat suddenly dry from devious thoughts.

He gasped though when a chin settled at his shoulder, light and distant still, not as Kili often took to doing, there was hesitancy in that embrace, concern.

“My, I would almost say you did with  _ that _ response,” Thorin chuckled at the writer’s ear, but the shorter man gave a shiver, a shake of his head. “If you’d like we can peruse the town as well.” The adventurer let his weight fall a bit more persistently against the writer who fell back into it, watching his eyes close. “I didn’t have explicit plans, honestly, this is just a resting spot before the festival, then we’ll move on.”

“We won’t go into the city?”

“Probably not,” Thorin shrugged. “To collect Gandalf’s letter and pass one another chapter or two, but no. It’s a fairly large trading post down here, the largest for several miles- it attracts a lot of attention.”

“Oh,” Bilbo had honestly been looking forward to at least  _ seeing _ it up close- a walk through perhaps. “How close are we to your last destinations?”

“Another two months, if we continue at our current pace, this was a planned break I’ve… included,” Bilbo turned then in Thorin’s arms.

“You never intended to stop here?”

“Not for this duration,” Thorin said. “Why?” It nagged the writer- why would he go out of his way to extend the trip? Not on  _ his _ account for sure? What if it was? All those things he’d said in the jungle, that Bilbo was just prolonging the venture unnecessarily- “You’re fretting. Tell me.”

“I thought you wanted to get on with the book,”

“I do,”

“So, stopping to have a single romantic day at a spring festival that’s in a week is… part of the book?” Bilbo strained against sounding like a child complaining, and an unplacated tween, first discovering love. “Not… that I have any reason to complain for it just…” but Bilbo’s eyes betrayed him. Thorin saw them flicker with discourse, with confusion and a bit of fear too. He remembered his words with a sober mind and they stung deeper than Thorin would have liked them too.

He wished he’d never said them, even if at the core it rang true. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle, insecurity dogged his every step, and now he only had one more thing to rattle him; the writer, staring up with glossy hazel eyes as if confounded himself by what was happening between them. “Don’t we have to press on?”

Thorin drew from the writer then, brows furrowing together as he tried to read the expressions upon the writer’s face, but to no avail.

Maybe things were  _ not _ going as planned.

“I took the time out of our schedule, I did want to see the orchards again,” Thorin instead folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the adjacent counter- a clear move to give  _ space _ between them.

there be- “I thought we could use the time to recuperate, considering the jungle was a… tumultuous time for us all.” It was the truth- and he had hoped to find something with the writer again.

Find what they had back during Solstice- that first awkward and warm kiss they shared, that tenderness seemed like it had been  _ years _ ago, and to think, nearly a year ago, they had hardly been able to  _ look _ at one another without an argument firing between them.

Though with the cold distance building, Thorin wondered if they would ever have what had  _ started _ this whole ordeal. “I… thought you might appreciate it, more, than, traversing the wild.”

“Reintroduce me to human civilization?” Bilbo chuckled and Thorin managed a smile at the genial laugh. “We didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” this caught the writer’s eyes, widening, before softening and averting, a blush coloring his cheeks. Thorin bent his head and pressed a kiss to a glowing cheek. “Bear with me, dear writer.” Thorin offered another kiss and when Bilbo reached for one to his lips, it was short and bashful- almost nervous. Bilbo skipped from the kitchen, muttering something under his breath, but the  aborted  display of affection had left Thorin feeling a bit deprived- did he have to do more? He had wanted to ask how far he could go, honestly.

With each kiss it seemed like a tease.

Like a game.

He knew that neither was playing that card, however, Thorin could not help but wonder how long he  _ would _ be kept waiting- he had no right to ask- but he had not  _ expected _ the chasteness of the writer, nor the seemingly more intensely shy nature to reappear.

The day was spent exploring the market, few kisses shared between stalls or food, laughter mostly filling the air between them and the writer leaning upon the adventurer as they strolled. Bilbo would dance away from wandering hands, but beg to be chased after, which led to them being tucked in an alley, kisses diving in for more than just a peck or a nibble-

The moment, however, moans began to escalate the writer had parted them, ceasing their actions- Thorin overlooked him as if he had hurt the writer, but there was no fear or hesitation upon his expression besides embarrassment and arousal.

When Bilbo drew them cautiously out of the alley, Thorin had only imagined it was to drag them back to their room- but the writer led Thorin to a small tavern that they had walked by earlier and commented on its delicious smells. He led them inside and all the adventurer found himself capable of was snarling quietly to himself to keep the burning arousal  _ growing _ between his legs from festering further.

Had the writer  _ not _ found himself hard at such an encounter?

With food before them, it was a bit easier to distract himself from the discomfort, a shake or two of his legs would help to either rid the attention, or on a few occasions brought  _ unwanted _ attention to it. It was hazel eyes, trembling with concern that finally had Thorin flustered and a bit put out, conceding to speak. “You have something you want to ask- you’ve been eyeing me.”

“Are you… well?” That the writer should ask… meant he was either being coy or truthfully had felt  _ nothing _ for the kiss.

Thorin wasn’t sure  _ what _ would have upset him more.

“As well as one can be after that… brush up in the alley,” Thorin decided a more direct approach might turn events around- they had played enough cat and mouse in their time, surely forward conversation would not  _ wound _ them further. “Merely trying to think of why you are not in a similar fashion has helped to wane it.” At least the writer had enough propriety to look ashamed of himself and lower his eyes from Thorin’s. “Are you not suffering- or did food truly call to you so?”

“I-“ but the writer’s voice was blocked in his throat, a blush manifested and for the evening did not leave,  _ nor _ did he ever answer the adventurer’s question. Instead he remained mostly shy and timid of their touching, and when the evening rolled through, Thorin let himself fall into their… silk-ridden bed for rest, pleased at least for the moment, his erection had dissipated with the little contact he shared with Bilbo. The writer was writing in his journal, the single candlelight not bothering the adventurer until he heard the writer cease, until there was shuffling to put his things down. The light remained on and he felt the bed shift a bit- felt weight begin to pool closer and closer to him. Thorin flopped to his back with a furrowed brow that ceases the writer’s forward motion, eyes wide as though caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I thought…” his voice is weak, shaky. “I was wondering if I… could… sleep closer to you.”

“You want to  _ snuggle, _ ” Thorin’s nose flared- “ _ Now?” _ It was filled with exasperation and frustration and the writer quickly tried to quell the anger rising in the adventurer.

“I-“ He started- “I wanted too. T-Thought… since, we have such a bed a-and…” Thorin eyed the writer who was smiling shyly, a flush spreading from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming. “And I thought it… would…  _ okay.” _ He tried to gesture towards Thorin in some suggestive manner, but Thorin was  _ not _ about to have a pity fuck- if that was  _ even _ what the writer was hinting. Even if it wouldn’t have reached that point.

“You’re head can,” Bilbo blinked, surprised. “As usual- but no wandering hands.” Thorin cleared. “Unless you plan on fulfilling what you ignored earlier- I would  _ like _ to rest too, instead of fussing over more base needs.” He wondered if he should have said anything, for all the writer seems to take from the conversation was that Thorin didn’t want  _ anything _ to do with touching.

They found sleep on either side of the bed, both curled in the silk sheets, the writer pulling them tight around himself as though they could mimic Thorin’s embrace- something the adventurer took note of with a pained and heavy heart. Though an hour later, Thorin decided that he could suffer such a thing again if the writer is within his grasp. He begins to turn and crawl towards the writer, but it is the writer’s voice that stops him-

“Staying on  _ your _ side, I hope?” the writer’s voice is bitter and muffled against a pillow.

“Honestly, the whole  _ thing _ is mine,” Thorin counters, instantly frustrated at the writer’s defensive huff. “I did lay my coin down for it.”

“I recall you didn’t want  _ me _ to use  _ you _ as the mattress, no?” Bilbo curled in more tightly, just how Thorin felt- his body coiling in on itself. “Don’t want me to leave you  _ hanging _ in any sort of discomfort, right?” To this the adventurer slowly slinks back to his side, watching the writer’s back until his eyelids close- not wanting to miss a moment.

It might have changed, the writer might have apologized, he might have.

But his eyes still fluttered closed, watching the writer curling in towards himself.

There was a morning where Thorin had left to run a few errands, mostly to find a few local maps, something that neither of the brothers nor the writer wanted to do, for the inn had made a steaming breakfast that could not be resisted. Thorin had laughed, had ruffled his nephews hair and placed a kiss to the writer’s cheek before he had departed. Bilbo knew the adventurer had risen earlier that morning than them, and had already partaken in the food, but still, that he’d skip out eagerly had his appetite quickly fading.

“Mister Bilbo you look like you want to ask us something,” Fili chuckled, munching on a piece of bacon, slapping his brother’s hand who had tried stealing a piece from his plate.

“Maybe not ask,” Bilbo chuckled, playing with a fluffy pancake before meeting their waiting eyes. “More like… get it off my chest, I suppose. I’m not… even entirely sure if there is anything  _ to _ talk about.”

“Well, I haven’t heard any exciting noises from yours and Uncle’s room, so I am a  _ bit _ curious as to the nature of the silence,” Kili offered, huffing at his brother’s quick hands and deflects from that piece of bacon. “You two confessed, had your cute and needy scene under stars, for the Maker’s  _ sake _ I hope you two have at  _ least _ taken your clothes off-“ Bilbo choked. “I can  _ never _ go that long.” He waved. “You two have such impressive resistances.” Kili raised his hands in defeat and semi-congratulatory. “So?”

“I’m not really sure,” Bilbo eyed the food. “I’m not sure where I stand with Thorin.”

“Uh, by his side,” Fili added. “In bed, too, I imagine.”

“I didn’t mean actual placement-“

“In his heart then,” Fili corrected, waving his piece of bacon around. “We hardly  _ think _ he doesn’t want you in  _ some _ respect- all the time.”

“But in  _ what _ respect?” Bilbo began to wring his fingers together, something he had taken to doing, between rubbing his neck. “I just… I’m not sure what I’m allowed- how much I’m allowed to do.” Their eyes grew serious at the writer’s distress. “I know we’re… official. That we’ve made it clear we want one another, desire… but how much of that is left over from a silly game?”

“Bilbo, Uncle wants you,” Kili said bluntly. “Whether he’s good at showing that or not, remains to be… well. Obvious he’s terrible at it. But he does.”

“Maybe the best thing you can do is be that honest,” Bilbo raised his eyes then to Fili. “You two haven’t had the best of conversations recently- if a game became… a means to destroy what was there, almost.”

“Tell him what you’ve told us, I am sure he’d be more handsy,” the younger grinned, though the writer still looked unconvinced. “Master Boggins… Bilbo.” Hazel eyes met the chocolate ones. “Uncle is… a difficult person. Most of all, he’s stubborn and probably a bit thick-headed. After all you two have gone through, is telling him the worst outcome?”

As soon as the brothers could manage, they wheedled themselves between Thorin and Bilbo, nagging their Uncle about the relationship. Thorin wasn’t happy for it, but he allowed himself to be cornered and sat upon the couch as his nephews stood before him, arms folded as though they were putting on this serious act to intimidate him.

“And now, what I can do for you two?” He folded his arms too, reclining back a bit amused at the situation they had all been stuck within.

“You know, it just seems the two of you, for lack of a better phrase, haven’t gotten it  _ on _ yet,” Kili was the first to speak and Thorin leveled his glare at the brunette first. “I-I mean…”

“Have you two even done  _ anything _ worth having such a bed to yourselves?”

“Why? Do you have better ideas for it?” Thorin countered-

“We do, but that isn’t the point,” the brunette argued, a huff escaping. “Uncle, we’re not blind, and Bilbo’s…” blue and brown eyes exchanged glanced before Fili took over-

“He’s wondering what it is, between the two of you,” this was news to Thorin, but with the way they had been acting the last few days, not a surprise. More of a disappointment. “Is honesty, is talking to him, going to result in something worse?”

“I suppose… not,” Thorin managed to peep out, becoming lost in his thoughts. This seemed to work as a good enough answer for his nephews left him alone, with hopes, of course, he’d speak with Bilbo about it. They had meddled plenty, and now it was  _ up _ to these two to finish it on their own. They prayed harder than they ever had before-  _ hoping _ it would finally  _ work. _

With only two days remaining before the festival, the writer found the courage to finally snatch Thorin’s attention. The plan was to talk to him, about their boundaries, if there should be any, and what it was they really were together, as a couple- what was the end goal, or if it would last longer, if it was something they… should be planning a future for.

Of course, his plans never worked in the direction he desired. The conversation found itself in the thick of their stay at the town. Bilbo expressed concern to the time spent in town, which Thorin shrugged away with a simple reply of needing the rest.

“I don’t disagree,” Bilbo huffed, but the adventurer quirked a brow, asking him to continue. “You mentioned we were delayed. But a few weeks- and I appreciate taking the time to breathe and relax, but should we not press forward?” Bilbo was hopeful, was aiming to weave in a part about  _ them _ through this conversation. Something sweet about how they should spend some time…  _ exploring _ one another. “I’m aware you were injured. That this is a break long needed. I just can’t help… you didn’t need to do this.”

“I did explain it was a break of us all, dear writer,” Thorin had offered instead, though he found himself becoming irritated with the writer- why such a nag to leave? He had made it clear that their progress was not important as much as their well-being was.

Hadn’t he? “I also didn’t  _ just  _ plan a week break for  _ rest.” _ He said more softly, his voice lightening. “I also did this for you, in part. I… wanted a break. With you.”

“I… Thorin,” Bilbo shook his head then, disbelief filling his eyes. “This is a bit ridiculous though, isn’t it? A week?” The adventurer tilted his head, brows beginning to furrow. “A week is a long time to waste on account for alone time. We haven’t even  _ done _ anything together, how can this be for me?” Bilbo coursed a hand into his hair, rubbing at his neck, eyeing the wall as if it had the most fascinating features then, rather than the upset man before him. “Even  _ I _ think it’s a waste of time to dawdle here. We do have a lot of grounds to cover, s-surely a few days would have been plenty, Thorin.”

“Maker, will you be this fussy when the venture is over and we’re together?” Thorin shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I hardly thought you to be the type to voice this many complaints about being homebodies- thought that would be me in your quaint home.”

“Isn’t that a… a bit of an assumption?”

It’s like the air is drawn right out of the room- Thorin can hardly find it in himself to breathe. It’s like he’d forgotten. And for several long moments he just stares unblinking at the writer who fusses with his feet, one twisting as he rubs his neck, staring at them. What could he have meant-

It was clear what he meant. There wasn’t… meant to be anything… long lasting? That was wrong.

H-Had to be wrong.

“Obviously,” Thorin growled which catches the writer’s eyes. “Excuse me for making such a leap.” But the writer can already see where his words have done their damage- he waves to cease them, as though they have the power to stop Thorin’s thoughts from spiraling out of control. “You wanted more than a game and here I  _ am _ confused about what it is you want. No wonder it took you such a long to  _ discover _ what was wrong with that game.”

“Thorin!” Bilbo cries, reaching for him but Thorin draws his arm from the loose grip, moving from him, distancing himself. “That isn’t what I meant- I did- I do want that-“

“Something tells me, dear  _ writer _ , you wouldn’t know if romance slapped you in the face and knocked you to a bed,” Bilbo gaped- “Let alone if someone desired a relationship with you beyond a simple tumble- Maker- I thought you of all people would see that- haven’t you written enough of my type?”

“I wasn’t implying that-“

“Then what?” Thorin finally snapped, storming to stand before the writer, breathing angrily down at him. “If not that, you truly didn’t expect this last outside this venture, what would you have desired?” His voice broke, and Thorin ground teeth together, jaw tight and clenching in agony then- “I would have given it. I would have tried.” But the adventurer turns and starts for the door-

“I never meant for you to  _ not  _ be there, Thorin-“ but the adventurer isn’t listening. Pleas are falling upon deaf ears, desperate eyes are being avoided- “I just meant-“ the slam of a door stops whatever it was the writer was building to say, and the loud stomping eventually becomes nothing more than soft thumps before it is soundless within their suite. “ ‘An assumption’?” Bilbo echoes softly. “Good choice there, renowned  _ author.” _

When Thorin returned, the writer was nowhere to be found, which was both a relief and cause for worry. He sought his nephews, both of them on their bed, one drawing his shoes off, the other sharpening his blades. He sighed- at least they were here-

“Have you seen Bilbo?” Both looked up, and Thorin thanked the Maker privately that they did not look upset at all.

“He said he wanted to go into town, he said he ran out of ink,” Kili shrugged. “He also said he needed to get some more parchment. He had a long letter to write to Gandalf after all.” Thorin relaxed, but the memory of their fight bristled against his mind, and they caught his distress.

“What’s wrong Uncle?” Fili stilled, and Thorin leant against the frame of the door, arms folding.

“I said something uncouth to him,” he snarled. “Again. Needless to say, he isn’t around because of  _ my _ doing. I suppose… he couldn’t have had his privacy in the wild. But still…”

“Can you two go a week without-“ Kili groaned, collapsing to the bed. “You two are hopeless.” But with no rebuttal from their Uncle, both brothers looked to him with worried eyes, concern welling. Thorin looked about as hopeless as before, but now there was a heavier weight on his shoulders. He had almost had the writer, almost kept him, it seemed. Thorin rubbed his forehead then, fingers combing into his hair.

“Doesn’t matter, I suppose,” He moved to leave.

“Sit him down, Uncle,” Fili stood then, walking to his Uncle. “If things can’t resolve themselves without you two  _ talking _ nothing will ever happen. And I don’t want to return home watching you  _ mope _ Uncle, no matter if it is amusing to see you two dance around the bush.”

“And what would you have me do?” Thorin argued- “Haven’t I caused enough distress? I can’t maintain a conversation with him without it turning into an argument, and one or both of us leave in anger.”

“That much is obvious,” Kili began to sit up. “You should tell him why you sat us here for a week. He’s restless.”

“Yes I know,”

“So you talked to him-“

“Shortly, right before we got into a fight, and I left,” He sighed then- “He must have made specific plans to avoid me, I didn’t see him in the town.”

“I’d avoid you after a fight too,” the brunette murmured under his breath. “I digress though- Uncle, say ‘I brought you here to have sex’-“

“He isn’t a crass brat like you, Kili,” Thorin snapped-

“You could say it more sweetly, then,” the blonde compromised. “You can’t be all insinuations and implied tenderness. He’s not even sure what he is to you.” Something made Thorin crumble at the words, his stormy eyes becoming clouded, drifting from more than just his nephews. They seemed to fall into another universe, watching time replay tragedy. “You brought him here because you love him. Does he even  _ know _ you love him, or does he just know that the game wasn’t meant to be a game. That you wanted more?”

“Uncle didn’t tell him,” Kili rolled his eyes. “Bilbo told me.” Fili glanced the Kili- “Before, when I caught him at the supply shop- said that Uncle hadn’t really made… a move towards him. And certainly, he didn’t say he loved him, Bilbo wouldn’t be doubting you so much.”

“Then what should I do, hmm, masters of love?” Thorin waved his arms at the two of them. “If you two are so certain you know our dear writer as well as you’ve bragged, then tell me something I do not already know!” They would have grinned had their Uncle not collapsed into the couch, palms digging at first into this eyes then sliding through his hair. His fingers laced at the back of his neck, head bowed and hair streaming to cover his face. “What  _ can _ I do?”

“First,” Kili moved towards his Uncle, hands on his hips with a devious grin. “You can go into the city and buy him some clothes.”

“Clothes- that isn’t going to-“

“Uncle, if you’re going to ask for our help-“ Fili started.

“Then you don’t get to ask or berate us for it,” Kili finished and for a moment they thought he would reject their help. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair once more and groaned.

“Clothes, then,” he sighed quietly. “For what, if I can at least know  _ what _ we’re going to do with them and  _ why.” _

The following day was tense, mostly for the brothers who cringed anytime Thorin or Bilbo entered the room, but it seemed that the writer was able to pick up on Thorin  _ trying _ to bring him closer, whether it was to sit next to him for breakfast downstairs in the dining hall or to read over their latest chapter. They could have  _ sworn _ their Uncle tried to sleep on the couch, but that writer had said he was a fool for thinking he needed to sleep there.

Seeing their Uncle being whipped about by the stout writer was more than endlessly amusing-

It warmed them that their Uncle would listen to  _ someone _ for a change.

It was only that when afternoon rolled around things became… difficult to bear. “Come on. We’ve got to hit the city before dusk.” Thorin had called to his nephews, but Bilbo had been in the common room, and Thorin smiled to him when he turned to draw on his a light coat. Bilbo rose then, found his boots when the brothers stepped out, fully dressed- “Not you, dear writer.”

“…What?”

“Just the three of us,” Fili and Kili stiffened behind their Uncle and Bilbo eyed them, but they didn’t speak.

“Oh,” Bilbo’s brows knitted together, and Bilbo shook his head. “Wait, why can’t I come along? I really… was looking forward to seeing it.”

“I’m running errands-“

“You didn’t even want to  _ see _ the city,” Bilbo countered, his hands forming into fists at his sides- he’d had it, he swore he did, with Thorin’s dismissive behavior, this… this  _ ploy _ of a relationship. “If you’re just going for errands, I won’t waste the time there- I can just look, just to come along-“

“No-“

“You’re being a stubborn ass, how come they both get to go?”

“I need them-“

“ _ Both _ for errands?” Thorin had always been an imposing figure, but the writer was accustomed to Thorin seeming to become larger when he wished to cease an argument. “This is ridiculous-“

“I can stay, Uncle,” Kili admitted then but Thorin’s eyes glared at the youth. “It’s not a big deal, right? If it’s  _ just _ for errands.” But the adventurer seemed to consider the situation with little patience in mind.

“It’s fine,” Fili persuaded but this didn’t please the writer in the least. “I can be more than enough help, yes?” Fili tried to ease Thorin away and eventually he caved to listening to his nephews, Fili eyeing his brother with apologies.

When the door shut Bilbo was still standing where Thorin had left him and he finally caved, allowing a choked sniffle to sound out.

“He’s a right ass you know,” Bilbo petered out. “Your Uncle.”

“I…” but Kili found he had no words to counter that, and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. His Uncle didn’t have to make heading to town so private, let alone to shove the writer out of it either. “I bought this fancy brandy the other night.” He came and stood before the writer. “I know I’m not the company you wanted… but, we can get drunk in the least?” Kili’s enthusiasm made the writer chuckle and nod, undoing his shoes as he flopped to the couch, watching the flames gnaw upon the wood. He set another log within and Kili came out dressed in looser clothes, shoes off, a bottle of golden liquor and two glasses, beaming. “You can tell me what an ass Uncle is, and I will try to dissuade you about leaving him.”

“I don’t even think I could,” Bilbo admitted which made Kili still. “I tried, remember, in the jungle. Man has more of me than he even knows what to do with, it seems.”

If only Thorin had been smart enough to eavesdrop. “I thought… I spied on three of you. In the jungle, that last night we all… fought.” Kili shot his eyes up, the writer taking the cup he offered and downing what he had within it with a wince. “I swore he had cared for me- that… that he hadn’t realized he cared so much for me until the game had ended… thought he had ruined our friendship or any chance of more.” Bilbo asked for another glass and Kili poured, throwing his first back with a cough. “I thought… I guess I heard wrong.”

It was the hardest thing Kili had done, not to tell the writer that Thorin  _ had _ indeed confessed he cared for the writer, but more, that he was  _ in love. _

“You didn’t,” Kili thought at least he could  _ twist  _ it a bit. “Come on, Uncle’s ornery. I think the last time he even  _ was _ in love was when he was a kid. He seems the type, no?” Bilbo did laugh at that and together they went through the bottle- Kili convincing slowly that the writer should tell Thorin how much he loves him back.

That the writer might be surprised to hear the words repeated back to him.

By the time they had polished the bottle off had Thorin and Fili returning- Thorin sighing loudly as though he expected them to have become drunk.

“Drunk already?” Thorin snarled, but it was hardly with callous.

“I’ll have you know, Uncle,” But Kili could hardly stand, the writer catching him as the two started to giggle like children.

“He isn’t a very good drunk,” Bilbo admitted and Kili tried to retort but he just shrugged then.

“I have a good bro to look af’er me right, Feelee~” his voice carried and even Fili had to avert his eyes with a shake of his head, a rueful smile forming. Fili helped Kili to bed, which left Thorin and Bilbo, the writer rising from the couch with his hands- wobbling as he tried to straighten.

“At  _ least _ let me help you to bed?” Thorin offered and Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him, before resigning with a grin.

“I could be carried, too, I recall I am not  _ that _ weighty,” Bilbo giggled which made Thorin sigh again, but a smile appearing after.

“Oh, so now, the writer wishes to be wooed,” Thorin teased moving towards the writer who leaned against him, then pulled away with a few slaps to his arm. He tumbled back not a moment later.

“Don’t critique my love,” the writer slurred- “Besides, not like you’re doin’ any better, no?” Thorin helped the writer to sit on the bed, at least he had the smarts to change into pajamas before- that would have been an awkward… if revealing moment. “I’m still mad you didn’t take me to the city.”

“I promise to take you,” Thorin assured, and it seemed that Bilbo sobered up right then.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said instead. “Or want to keep.” Steely blue eyes settled upon serious hazel ones that then began to smile. “Doesn’t make for a good ending either. Kinda disappointing you know.” Did the writer know what he was saying, or was he truly just  _ saying _ what he felt?

“I intend to keep it, dear writer,” his eyes met Thorin’s then, wide, blinking slowly, his inebriated state delaying his understanding. “If I didn’t mean to keep it, I would not promise it.”

“O-Oh,” Thorin stroked a flushed cheek, seeing it darken, seeing the writer squirm a bit with giddiness. “Can we go tomorrow then?”

“Sure,” Bilbo began to beam widely, trying to scoot back onto the bed without knocking into Thorin. The adventurer allowed the drunken writer his space to maneuver, moving and setting his lips upon his temple with a hum. “Tomorrow we will go together, alright?” he said this over Bilbo’s ear, the writer shivering below.

“Don’t- whisper like that,” a hand rubbed at his ear. “I’m drunk enough that I’d catch fever.”

“I do doubt that is medically possible,” Thorin chastised playfully. “How red do you think you can get?”

“Red  _ enough,” _ Bilbo huffed his response, retorting with a flare of his nose and a glance to the adventurer. “Besides, my ears are sensitive too. You know. They’re a spot for me.”

“I’ll keep them in mind,” he said again at his ear. “As I have done for many months- your neck, your ears. As other parts, I am sure, elicit similar reactions-“

“S-Stop,” Bilbo gasped, his hand colliding with Thorin’s face before he tried to mutter an apology, but Thorin kissed his hand instead.

“Sleep, dear writer, there is much to be done tomorrow,” hazel eyes shined with confusion but another kiss to his lips had him closing his eyes with a wide smile and peace on his mind.


End file.
